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THE YOUNG IDEA’ 



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IN ANOTHER MOMENT SHE WOULD HAVE HIM. 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


A NEIGHBORHOOD CHRONICLE 


BY 

PARKER H. FILLMORE 

AUTHOR OF “THE HICKORY LIMB*’ 

ILLUSTRATIONS BY 
ROSE CECIL O’NEILL 



4 

i 

I 

i 

I 


NEW YORK 

JOHN LANE COMPANY 
MCMXI 


Copyright 1911, by 

JOHN LANE COMPANY 


Various chapters of The Young Idea have ap- 
peared, in slightly different form, in Everybody's, 
Hampton^ s, The Delineator, The American and 
Smithes, by the curtesy of whose editors they are here 
reprinted. The author is further grateful to the 
editors of Everybody's and The American for their 
permission to reproduce the illustrations. 





CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I The Ruination of Willie Jones 13 

II The Lame Lady’s Pansies . 33 

III A Little Daughter of Eve 59 

IV A Case of Fits 91 

V The Sling-Shot 123 

VI A Little Question in Ladies’ Rights I 57 

VII The Orphling i 77 

VIII A Little Graft in Home Missions 213 

IX A Stolen Thanksgiving 249 

X The Secret of Giving 281 

XI Christmas for One 315 


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 

In another moment she would have him . . Frontispiece 136 


Margery Title Page 3 

Willie Jones’ Mother 12 

“ How late at night do they arrest people ? ” 122 

“ I’m just a-waitin’ ” 156 

“The bees are after him! Oh, jiminy!” 174 

The Twins 245 



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THE RUINATION OF WILLIE JONES 

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THE YOUNG IDEA 


I 

THE RUINATION OF WILLIE JONES 

Of A dam^s first zvife, Lilith, it is told, 

{The witch he had before the gift of Eve,) 
That, ere the snake* s, her sweet tongue could 
deceive, , . . 

— Rossetti, 

IN WHICH MARGERY MAKES THE ACQUAINTANCE 
OF THE BOY OVER THE BACK FENCE 

M ARGERY’S one regret, now, was that 
she hadn’t eaten them. Her indignation 
finally boiled down to one clear thought: 
If you’re going to be blamed for a thing anyhow, 
you might as well have the fun of doing it. Good- 
ness knows who had eaten them — those half dozen 
bananas. Henry, perhaps, or even the twins ; but if 
so they had been very expert at covering tracks; 
and maternal suspicion had at last settled on her. 

“ You’re a naughty, wicked child,” her mother 
had said, “ and if you don’t confess the truth at 
once you’ll have to stay home.” 

“ But I tell you I didn*t! ” Margery insisted. 

13 


14 


THE YOENG IDEA 


She had said the same thi’ig so many times without 
making any impression on her mother’s hearing that 
this time she raised her voice. Unconsciously, too, 
she clenched her hands and stamped her foot, for- 
getting for the moment her mother’s nerves. But 
her mother remembered them and, growing at once 
distant and reproachful, said: 

“ You’re a naughty girl to speak that way to your 
poor mother! Aren’t you ashamed? Well, if you 
are not, you can just stay home until you are.” 

Margery had opened her mouth to declare again 
her innocence, but what was the use? When you’ve 
got a mother like that — well, if you mustn’t say 
anything because she is your mother, why doesn’t 
the law or something prohibit mothers with nerves 
from exercising authority over people? Margery 
hadn’t been allowed another word in her own behalf 
the others had started off; and she had been left 
alone with Efiie. At that very moment they were, 
no doubt, eating ice cream at Aunt Allie’s. In her 
excess of feeling Margery jumped up and gave her 
old friend, the cherry tree, a vicious kick. 

Just then the afternoon quiet was broken by a 
woman’s voice calling out from a neighboring house : 
“ Willie, oh, Willie! Where are you, dearie? ” A 
boy’s voice answered : “ I’m in the back yard, 

Mamma. I’m reading.” Then the first voice 
spoke again. “ Mother’s- own precious,” it said, 
“ he won’t go out of the yard while Mother’s taking 
a nap, will he?” And the docile assurance went 
up: “ No, ma’am, I won’t.” 

Margery gave a snort of disgust. The Joneses 
were comparative newcomers and Margery did not 
know them very well. Quite well enough, though. 


RUINATION OF WILLIE JONES 15 

to be sure that she would never care to know them 
any better. The sympathetic and almost tearful 
tone with which Mrs. Jones always addressed chil- 
dren, and her own little Willie in particular, drove 
Margery wild. It was something she had to endure 
often for the Joneses’ back yard abutted on her own 
with merely a solid, high, board fence to mark the 
division. To-day the Jones mother’s voice was espe- 
cially exasperating and the well-behaved respectabil- 
ity echoed back in her son’s reply was simply too 
much. All the pent-up anger and fury in Margery’s 
breast suddenly vented itself upon the Jones family. 
In a flash she saw that they and only they were the 
real cause of all her unhappiness. In her first call 
upon the Blair mother, the Jones mother already 
had shown a remarkable faculty for suggesting Mar- 
gery’s shortcomings while enlarging upon Willie’s 
virtues. Margery could hear her sickening, cooing 
voice now. “ Yes, Mrs. Blair,” it was reiterating, 
i “ Willie practices the piano every single day, one- 
half hour in the morning and one-half hour in the 
afternoon.” Then after a slight pause: “Has 
Margery begun lessons yet?” Or it would be: 
“ You can’t imagine, Mrs. Blair, how rapidly Willie 
’ is learning to read. The dear child is so interested 
1: that he has promised me to keep on studying during 
j vacation, a little every day. Does Margery read 
: pretty well? ” 

! Oh, it was clear enough to her now ! It was the 
; Jones family, mother and son, and not her own poor 
I nervous mother who was to blame. How she 
I scorned and despised the hypocrisy of the Joneses 1 
At that very instant she could see Willie Jones in 
her mind’s eye, sitting in his little red chair under 


i6 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


a tree, a great stiff sailor collar covering his back, j 
a book In his hand, a pad and pencil on the ground | 
beside him. ! 

Margery was essentially a person of action and ; 
now, so vivid to her mind was the Imagined picture, j 
that. In a fury, she snatched up a large stone and ; 
hurled It In the supposed direction of the offending ■ 
Willie. It struck the fence an echoing thud and, 
with a grating squeak, one long board swung loose 
from Its lower support. The upper nail held and 
the board stood out like a stiff flap. This was In- 
teresting, the more so as it elicited an exclamation 
of surprise from the other side. Margery stepped 
briskly toward the newly made opening and peeped 
through. Yes, there It was, just as she had sup- 
posed — Willie Jones, red chair, sailor collar, book 
and all. 

Willie stared at the gaping fence and at her with 
open mouthed astonishment. 

“ Did you do that?’’ he demanded, sharply. 

Margery pointed her nose aggressively. 

“ What’d you do if I did? ” she asked. j 

“ Well, I want to know who done it,” Willie re- 
peated doggedly. 

“ Well, I did. So there, Mr. Baby.” 

“What for?” 

“ ’Cause I felt like It,” Margery answered 
promptly. 

Conversationally that subject was closed and, as i 
It was Willie’s turn to speak, he had to try another. 

“What’s you been crying about?” he asked in 
the same tone of voice as before. 

“ I ain’t been crying.” 

“ You have, too. I can tell.” 


RUINATION OF WILLIE JONES 17 

“ I ain’t either ! ” shouted Margery, angrily. 
She took one threatening step forward. “ Willie 
Jones,” she demanded, “ did you ever see me cry? ” 

Now Willie very likely had, as Margery well 
knew; but he was by training peacefully inclined 
and so he deemed it best to answer: “ No, I don’t 
know as I have.” 

As there was no excuse for further hostilities, 
Margery sat down on the grass. As she looked 
at Willie Jones, at the irritating stiffness of that 
sailor collar, at the straight part in his hair, at the 
proper care he was taking of his book, a thought 
suddenly came to her: If she could only ruin him^ 
then and therey body and soul! Oh, what a re- 
venge that would be on his miserable, sneaking 
mother I If she could only strip him of all those 
symbols so much approved by grown-up respectabil- 
ity: shoes and stockings, sailor collar, brushed hair 
and clean hands! How to tempt him — that was 
the question. If he were like other boys she would 
know how to go about it. But he wasn’t. Well, 
anyway, it was a game worth trying. 

“ You can’t guess what I’m making,” she began, 
amiably. 

“What?” Willie asked, interested at once. All 
he wanted was a chance to be friendly. “ What is 
it? I can’t guess.” 

“ I’ve got a piece of mersquiter bar and a hoop 
and a broomstick,” Margery answered, counting off 
the articles on her fingers. “ And I’m going to 
make a seine. And I’m going out to the woods. 
And I’m going to catch a whole lot of minnies.” 

Margery spoke slowly to let the meaning of her 
words sink in. Then she peeped up to see the effect. 


i8 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


There was an eager look on Willie Jones’s face. It 
was evident that he, too, would go a-fishin’. 

“ I’m going home now to make the seine,” Mar- 
gery continued, half-rising. “ If you want to,” she 
went on, hospitably, “ you can come over and help 
me.” 

“ All right, Margery. But wait a minute till I 
ask my mamma.” 

“ Till you ask your mummy, baby,” mimicked 
Margery. “ Can’t you ever do anything without 
asking your mamma ? ” 

“ Well, I can’t go to your house without asking,” 
Willie retorted, hotly. Then he stopped short. 
He was naturally polite and he would not for 
worlds tell Margery what a dangerous companion 
his mother considered her. He hoped Margery 
hadn’t understood. 

But Margery had and quietly put another black 
mark against the Jones mother’s account. But she 
made no comment. Instead, she sat down again, 
carelessly, and asked: 

“ Have you ever seen any minnies, Willie? ” 

Yes, Willie had. Boys like Tommy Grayson and 
Freddy Larkin, who went barefoot all summer, al- 
ways brought home old tin cans filled with minnies 
and things. Sometimes they would let you take a 
peep and then try to scare you by poking the can 
into your face. Oh, yes, Willie had often seen min- 
nies. 

“How big?” Margery demanded. 

Willie, measuring with his hands, hazarded a 
guess of a foot. 

“ Huh I ” sniffed Margery. “Is that all? Why, 


( 


RUINATION OF WILLIE JONES 19 

I know a crick where theyVe this long.” And she 
marked off about four feet on the grass. 

Willie was impressed. 

“ And right near that same crick,’' Margery con- 
tinued, “ they’s a great big — Will you cross your 
heart, honest Injun, that you won’t tell nobody if 
I tell you? ” 

Willie performed the sacred rites and Margery 
went on in a lowered voice : “ They’s a great big 

apple tree just loaded with great big ripe apples 
and what do you think? I dast have all I want! ” 

Willie gazed at Margery, hungrily. He loved 
apples and he hadn’t had one since winter. His 
mother kept telling him it was too early in the sea- 
son for apples. If she only knew about Margery’s 
tree I 

“ Where is it? ” he asked, coaxingly. 

JMargery decided it was time to leave again. 

“ I’m going to it now,” she announced, moving 
toward the gap in the fence. 

“ Wait — wait a minute, Margery.” Willie had 
really nothing to say but, thinking of those apples, 
he could not bear to see her go. “ Aren’t you — 
aren’t you going to make a seine this afternoon? I 
thought you said — ” 

“ I can do that just as well to-morrow morning,” 
she answered, lightly, halfway through the fence. 
Then she turned her head. “ Say, Willie, would 
you like to go with me to the apple tree? You can 
if you want to.” 

Willie stood up in happy excitement. “ All 
right,” he cried. “ Wait a minute till — ” 

Margery whirled around. “Willie Jones! ” she 


20 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


said, sternly, “ You crossed your heart, honest Injun, 
you wouldn’t tell nobody about that apple tree and 
now, if you go blabbin’ to your mother, I — I — I’ll 
never speak to you again I ” 

Willie Jones was puzzled. Up to this time his 
mind had moved along simple lines and consequently 
was thrown Into helpless confusion by such precocious 
subtleties as Margery dealt in. Three things were 
clear to him: he couldn’t go without asking his 
mother; yet, under his promise, he couldn’t ask his 
mother; and, whatever happened, he simply must 
have a taste of those apples. 

“ Besides,” Margery Insinuated, “ ain’t your 
mother asleep? I think It would be a shame for a 
great big boy like you to want to wake up his mother 
when she’s asleep.” 

That was true. Willie Immediately saw things 
in their proper light. He would go and then, later, 
explain to his mother the scruple which had pre- 
vented his asking permission. Moreover, he would 
bring her home a big, juicy apple. His mother liked 
apples, too. 

He crawled through the fence after Margery and 
together they skirted the Blair house without attract- 
ing Effie’s attention and let themselves out the front 
gate. In the glaring sun of early afternoon the lit- 
tle suburban street was quiet and deserted. Mar- 
gery and Willie hurried on with never a pause nor a 
glance behind. Three squares and a turn carried 
them beyond the last house and to a new street In 
the early stages of construction. Down this they 
went over stretches of sharp-pointed foundation rock 
and patches of cracked yellow clay until they reached 
the confines of a wide meadow. Here they stopped 


RUINATION OF WILLIE JONES 21 

a moment before a barbed-wire fence which was sur- 
mounted by a huge NO trespass sign. 

Margery’s pulse beat high. Now for the open- 
ing of the campaign in good earnest. 

“ Listen, Willie, you help me through and then 
I’ll help you through,” she said, showing him how 
to hold up a wire. 

Willie did as he was directed and Margery wrig- 
gled under with an agility that bespoke practice. 
Then she took the wire and Willie got down on his 
hands and knees. It was evidently his first expe- 
rience with barbed-wire — he was so slow and bung- 
ling. 

“ Hurry ! ” Margery cried. “ I can’t hold this 
forever! ” 

Even as she spoke the wire slipped from her fin- 
gers and descended with a swoop on Willie’s col- 
lared back. Willie squirmed violently, to the music 
— so it seemed to Margery — of a shrill, snicker- 
ing tear. It was a beautiful tear, long and zigzag, 
and for a moment Margery gazed at it with joy and 
satisfaction. Then she began scolding. 

“Now, see what you done, slowpoke! You tore 
a little hole in your pretty collar.” 

“Is it very little?” Willie asked, straining his 
neck to see. 

Margery examined the rent judicially. “Yes,” 
she answered, brazenly, “ it’s only a little one. I’ll 
pin it when we go home and your mother’ll never 
know.” 

They followed the line of the fence until they 
reached a tiny valley at one corner of the meadow. 
Here there was a bit of grateful shade and Margery 
and Willie threw themselves down to rest. Just be- 


22 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


low them the meadow brook spread out Into a little : 
pool. Its invitation was Irresistible and Margery 
was soon unbuttoning her shoes. ; 

“ I’m goln’ a-wadin’,” she remarked. 

Willie watched her a moment and then, without a , 
word, began similar preparations. Margery’s cup of ' 
joy was fast filling. How gloriously disreputable 
he would look by the time she returned him to his 
mother’s arms ! 

One thing, however, troubled her. Willie was en- 
joying himself too much — that is, too Innocently. 
She would have him yield to her enticing temptations, 
of course, but consciously and a little fearfully. As 
it was he seemed to have no thought that he was 
doing anything forbidden. His enjoyment of the 
moment was perfect, untouched by apprehension of 
anything that was to come. He splashed into the 
brook with as loud a shout of delight as any boy 
would have given. After that he showed no con- 
cern In the least for his clothes but swooped reck- 
lessly about after skippers and made wild plunges 
at the occasional minnows that flashed by. Mar- 
gery was astonished. She began to wonder whether, 
if left to himself, he would not after all be a rather 
decent sort of chap. Of course she could never 
abide his mother, but Willie, now, taken by him- 
self, wasn’t so awful bad. And then, remembering 
the task she was at that moment engagecf in, Mar- 
gery gave herself a mental shake and told herself 
emphatically that comradeship, however attractive, 
was not for them. Her task was to work his ruin, 
not to accept his friendship. ' 

They idled an hour or more In the pool and then, ^ 
with shoes and stockings tied together and thrown 


RUINATION OF WILLIE JONES 23 

over their shoulders, continued their adventure. 
On the other side of the brook they struck a tiny 
path worn smooth and hard. Through the gate- 
way of another fence and across another meadow 
and the promised apple tree appeared. 

It was a miserable little apple tree, aged and 
shriveled, a scrub seedling that had lived a life 
against heavy odds. It crowded up close to the 
meadow fence as though to seek protection in the 
shade of the tall woodland trees just beyond. Mar- 
gery, with a faint suspicion that the apple tree might 
not seem all that her report had painted it, pointed 
enthusiastically to these. 

“ See those big trees over there, Willie? They’re 
walnut trees! Honest, they are. I’m coming here 
next November when the nuts are ripe and get a 
sackful.” 

Willie was silent a moment, then remarked, unex- 
pectedly, “ So am 1 .” 

Margery put on her shoes to protect her feet in 
climbing and quickly pulled herself up into the apple 
tree. Willie followed close behind. They found 
seats in the branches and were soon eating or, rather, 
chewing. It was really handsome of Willie not to 
ask where were the big, ripe, juicy apples. He 
didn’t say a word about them but picked the little 
green abortions which the tree afforded, bruised 
them against their mother trunk, as he saw Margery 
do, chewed the pulp with gusto, and then manfully 
spat out. 

“ Jiminy ! ” Margery exclaimed. “ I wisht we 
had some salt. These’d be dandy with salt.” 

She hadn’t much fear of cholera morbus for her- 
self and great hopes for Willie. So far as he in- 


24 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


dividually was concerned she would just as soon he 
didn’t have it, for he wasn’t a half bad fellow once 
you got to know him; but for his mother — well, 
for her cholera morbus would certainly be a crown- 
ing degradation. Keeping her mind fixed on this 
thought Margery encouraged her companion to 
gorge to his heart’s content. 

The little path that had brought them to the 
apple tree continued its way through the meadow 
into a field of sprouting corn. Glancing thither 
by chance, Margery saw something that made her 
scream in fright. Coming down the path on the 
run, directly toward them, was an old farmer with a 
gun on his arm. To Margery’s quick imagination, 
it was the approach of judgment in visible form, i 
She knew that dire punishment was threatened all - 
intruders by the large no trespass sign which 
they had passed on the first fence; and not for an I 
instant did she suppose that the old man would do , 
any less than kill them both in cold blood. { 

“ Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot! ” she cried wildly. 
“Don’t shoot! We’ll come down!” 

“ Keep still, youngsters ! ” the farmer shouted. 

“ I ain’t a-goin’ to hurt you.” But as he spoke he ; 
raised his gun to his shoulder and, so it seemed to ' 
them both, aimed straight at them. 

“D-d-don’t!” screamed Margery again, shaking , 
with terror. Then suddenly her vision was ob- 
structed for Willie Jones had crawled along his i 
branch and placed himself in front of her. She ' 
clutched him and clung to him hysterically. | 

There was a loud report. Instinctively Margery I 
and Willie closed their eyes and held their breath, i 
Then an unearthly clamor arose, as it seemed, from ' 


I RUINATION OF WILLIE JONES 25 

all directions. There was a second report and some- 
thing that felt sharp and hot struck Willie Jones on 
his bare leg. He made no outcry but, just the same, 
he supposed he was killed. 

The clamor gradually died away and there were 
no more shots. Margery, her little chest still heav- 
|i ing convulsively, slowly looked up. 

1 “ Willie,” she quavered. “ Willie, are you 

shot?” 

“ Yes,” he answered, opening his eyes with a 
pop. 

They disengaged themselves from each other’s 
! arms and looked timidly about. Everything was 
I strangely quiet. The old farmer was far up the 
I path near the corn field and, in place of the unearthly 
? clamor, the only sound they heard was the hoarse 
! cawing of a flock of crows that was vanishing in the 
I distance. 

; “ Where — where are you shot, Willie ? ” 

I “ In my leg, I think.” 

5 Willie squirmed about until he was able to gaze 
at the injured limb. All he could find was one tiny 
j red spot. Years later, should he recall the adven- 
i ture, he would know that he had been struck with a 
; grain of scattering shot. He felt the little red spot 
j cautiously and then, much relieved, discovered that, 

I after all, he was not hurt. But even so, what a 
j narrow escape! 

I They climbed quietly out of the tree, Margery 
j still sobbing a little. 

“ Willie,” she gulped, brokenly, “ and you — you 
got in front of me and — and — and you might ha’ 
been killed!” Then she remembered; she remem- 
bered the ruin she had planned for him, the temp- 


26 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


tations she had been leading him into. And he, 
meanwhile, he had risked his life for her! .Mar- 
gery sat down on the ground and rocked herself 
miserably. 

Willie stood over her and patted her head a little 
awkwardly. He would comfort her if only he knew 
how. 

“ Oh, Willie,” she choked, “ it was all my fault 
and will you — will you — will you forgive me?” 

Willie looked puzzled. “ ’Tain’t nobody’s fault,” 
he said. “ And anyhow, Margery, do you know, I 
don’t believe he was shooting at us at all, ’cause if 
he was he’d ha’ hit us.” 

Then he noticed something lying close beside them 
on the ground. “ Why look here, Margery 1 ” he 
cried, excitedly. “If here ain’t a dead crow I That 
proves it I They must ha’ been crows up in the J 
walnut trees and we just didn’t pay any attention to I 
them. And it must ha’ been the crows that made all I 
that racket, too. Don’t you think so?” 

Willie’s mind, not burdened with any .load of 
guilt, immediately threw off the effect of the scare 
and became absorbed again In the enjoyment of new 
experiences. But with Margery it was otherwise. . 
She was too deeply shaken to be calmed by any such 
merely reasonable explanation as crows. No; she 
knew better than that. The heavens had opened 
and in one dazzling flash, as it were, had shown her 
her own miserable self plotting the downfall of such 
an one as Willie Jones. Oh, how she had mis- 
judged that noble youth, putting him down as a pet 
and a ’fraidy-cat! How she longed to tell him 
that now she realized her mistake, and to show, 
him how she admired him for his bravery, yes, and’ 


RUINATION OF WILLIE JONES 27 

for himself, too. She wanted to let him know that 
thereafter they were to be true friends and com- 
' rades. 

Along the last stretch of meadow she tried to 
broach the subject but Willie seemed not to grasp 
what it was she wanted to say. His mind, ap- 
parently, was too full of other thoughts; pleasant 
thoughts, too, for his face was smiling and he was 
nodding familiarly to the fence-posts and the meadow 
: grasses. After two or three attempts, Margery de- 
sisted and walked on in a silence that became ever 
more and more forlorn. 

When they turned into the new street, the rays 
of the setting sun caught them full in the face. 

I Margery kept shading her face with one hand and, 

' for an occasional relief, glanced sidewise at her 
I companion. He, unconscious of the molten bright- 
I ness toward which he was walking, looked straight 
! ahead with the determined air of a man who is on 
the direct path of duty and knows as much. 

Suddenly out of the corner of her eye, Margery 
caught sight of the jagged tear in Willie’s sailor col- 
lar. A sickening wave of remorse swept over her. 
How cowardly she had been! How he would de- 
spise her when he knew about it — he who had 
risked his life on her account! 

“ Willie,” she began, desperately. 

Willie did not hear. 

“ Willie,” she said again. “ Listen, Willie. I 
told a — I told a story, I did. The bob-wire did 
tear your collar — an awful big hole and — and — 
and — it was all my fault, too! ” 

She ended with a rush hoping that he would do 
the noble thing once more and rush to her comfort. 


28 THE YOUNG IDEA 

Little did she yet realize to what heights he had 
risen I ' 

“ Oh, that’s all right,” he said, unconcernedly, | 
with scarce a backward glance. “ I knew it all | 

along. But it don’t matter. I don’t care.” And i 

he looked again into the setting sun which was glori- 
ous with promises of the morrow. A new heaven ^ 
and a new earth had been opened up to Willie Jones 
that afternoon and he was taking immediate pos- i; 
session. In a vague, uncertain way he felt that ^ 

there would be some opposition to be met and ; 

overcome before — well, say, his mother would see o 
things in the proper light. But, dominating this, r 
was the strong conviction, that, come what might, 
he would win out in the end. 

What if his great sailor collar were torn and 
ruined? He was aware that before — well, if you 
insist on tying a person to dates, that very morning 
it would have been different. But now — well, why > 
didn’t it matter now? Why, because he wasn’t go- 
ing to wear sailor collars any more! This being, 
the case, what would it matter if the whole lot of« 
them were torn? Then, hereafter, another economy j 
in his clothing was to be in shoes and stockings. 
Not only for comfort, though that, he acknowl- 
edged to himself, was a consideration, but — and 
as time went by he found his arguments getting 
very strong on this point — because a boy ought to 
be able to walk barefoot on hot sand and over peb- 
bles even if they are a little sharp. He had a fore- 
boding that the opposition to be met here would be 
even greater than in the matter of the collars. 
But he could be firm. When the whole world was 
to gain — the woods, the creeks, the long, long 


RUINATION OF WILLIE JONES 29 

roads — what would be a little wrangling and scold- 
ing every morning for a month or so, especially if 
the other person did all the wrangling and scolding 
and you just went! 

So, thinking of the golden days in store, Willie 
Jones scarcely remembered the little girl at his side. 

Poor Margery! She was humbled and subdued, 
ready for almost any degree of self-abasement. 
But no self-abasement was to be required of her. 
Gradually she began to understand that the boy 
did not expect her to say anything, nor to do any- 
thing, nor he anything. She was only a girl. She 
felt the tears rising. She was so willing to meet 
him halfway, nay, three quarters of the way; and 
he was utterly oblivious of her existence. Only yes- 
I terday how pleased he would have been. She real- 
ized that somehow and somewhere they had changed 
places in those few afternoon hours. No more 
could she taunt him through the fence; no more 
impress him with tales of wild daring. The day of 
such things was past. Perhaps, if he were magnan- 
, imous, occasionally, in the future, he would share 
some escapade with her. She even went so far as 
' to hope he would. 

; They reached the Blair yard without further con- 
1 versation. 

I “ So long,” Willie remarked, carelessly, keeping 
1 straight on toward the back fence. 

Margery looked after him yearningly. She 
wanted to say something but she didn’t know quite 
what. 

When Willie reached the fence, he turned. 

“ Say,” he began, “ I’m going a-fishin’ to-morrow 
afternoon and to-morrow morning I’m going to 


30 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


make a seine. If youVe got some hoops and mers- 
quiter bar you can help me if you want to.” 

Margery could scarcely believe her ears. To 
think that he would take her very words and pre- 
tend — I She would just tell him how mean he 
was and how she hated him and how she hated all 
bays. But when she opened her mouth to speak, 
all she heard was a meek little voice, so meek that|^ 
she wondered whose it was. And the meek little J 
voice was saying: I 

“ All right, Willie. When you’re ready, just call! 
over the fence,” 



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II 


THE LAME LADY’S PANSIES 

A slice of cake and glass of mine 
A cheesecake and a pie 
She gave to each good boy and girl 
That never told a lie, 

— Dame Partlefs Farm. 

IN WHICH IS SHOWN THE FEARFUL PACE AT WHICH 
WILLIE JONES TOOK THE DOWNWARD PATH 

UWJ ILLIE is simply growing like a meed 
this Spring^ the Jones mother re- 
▼ ▼ marked almost daily. 

H^mf Like a meed! more than one of her 
\ neighbors had repeated, with a slight tightening of 
Ups and a sharp in drawing of breath which the Jones 
, mother did not in the least understand but which left 
1 her, nevertheless, vaguely disquieted. 

I JVhat did they mean? 

I “SstI Margery!” 

i! Margery looked up from the brick furnace she 
I was building under the cherry tree and saw Willie 
' Jones motioning mysteriously through the crack in 
the fence. 

! “Are you alone?” he whispered loudly. 
Margery nodded. 

3 


33 


34 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


Willie Jones, plainly relieved, slipped through 
the fence, and, guarding something behind his back, 
made his way cautiously to the cherry tree. 

“ Can’t guess what I got,” he began in a muffled 
tone. 

“A snake?” 

“ Naw.” 

“A frog?” 

“ Naw. You’re ’way off.” 

“A turtle?” 

“Naw. Give up?” 

“What?” 

With a quick movement he swung his arm for-_^ 
ward, disclosing a little clump of pansies — bright : 
purple blooms, leaves, and roots still intact in a!‘ 
handful of rich earth. I 

Margery gasped in astonishment. fli 

“Where did you get that? OI OI O! T 
know! Willie Jones, I bet you stole it! I: 

“ Ssh 1 Don’t talk so loud ! ” 9 

For a moment Willie peered this way and that^- 
a little fearfully. Then, as nothing happened, the 
expression on his face slowly changed. A look of 
sadness came into his eyes and his mouth quiverec^j 
His feelings were plainly hurt by the unkind insin- 
uation. I 

“ I don’t see how you can say such a thing, Marq 
gery. ’Tain’t right to steal things. You know in 

ain’t. Somebody gave me this pansy.” U 

“Somebody gave it to you, did they? Like fum 
they did I ” fl 

“ Well, they did,” Willie insisted patientl^ 
“The Lame Lady gave it to me. You know thl 
Lame Lady.” m 


THE LAME LADY’S PANSIES 


35 

“ Huh ! I knew it came from the Lame Lady’s 
all right, but I didn’t know she gave it to you.” 

“ Well, she did all the same-y. I was walking 
along the street when I heard someone say, ‘ Little 
boy, come here.’ I looked around and there was the 
Lame Lady standing beside her rockery. And she 
says, ‘ Little boy, wouldn’t you like a pansy? ’ And 
I says, ‘ Yes, ma’am.’ And what does she do but 
stoop down and dig this up with her hand and give 
it to me.” 

Margery stared, round-eyed and unconvinced. 
“ Oh, Willie Jones, how you can tell ’em 1 ” 

“ I don’t see how you can say that, Margery. 
If you don’t believe me you can go and ask the 
Lame Lady herself.” 

If the Lame Lady gave it to you, I don’t see 
why you’re afraid to show it.” 

“ I ain’t afraid. Only she said not to show 
it. Do you suppose she could be giving everyone 
pansies? But she said she would give me some 
more any time I wanted ’em.” 

“ Oh, Willie Jones, how can you ! ” 

“ Honest truth, she did say that,” Willie reiter- 
ated earnestly. “ And she told me to plant this 
! one in a box and put it away somewheres and water 
:| it every day and take care of it ! ” 

[ ‘‘ Did she really, Willie? ” 

“ Of course she did. I don’t see why you think 
I’m telling you a story. I was going to say: Let’s 
I plant it in a box and hide it in your stable. And 
we could both water it every day and take care of it. 
But if you’re afraid — ” 

“ I’m not afraid. Who said I was afraid? ” 

“ If you think I’m telling a story it’s just the 


36 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


same. I wish now I hadn’t told you.” Then he 
added, gloomily, “ That’s the way a girl always 
acts, anyway.” 

“ ’Tain’t either, Willie Jones, and you know it 
ain’t. I’ll just show you I’m not any more afraid 
than you are. Come on into the stable and I’ll get 
a box.” 

But Willie Jones wanted more coaxing than that. 

“ No,” he replied, slowly backing toward the 
fence. “ You’re a girl and you’ll blab.” 

“ I don’t blab, either, and you know I don’t ! ” 
Margery was almost weeping now with vexation. 
“ But I tell you what, Willie Jones, if you don’t let 
me be partners with that pansy I will blab this time ! 
Yes, I’ll go right down now and tell the Lame Lady 
on you I ” 

Willie instantly came back, all friendliness and 
smiles. 

“You hunt a box, Margery, and I’ll scrape up 
some dirt.” 

So Margery found a soap box in the stable, and to- 
gether they half filled it with dust and sand, in 
which, reduced by a generous flooding to the con- 
sistency of thick chocolate, they planted the pansy. 
Then between them they carried the box into the sta- 
ble and carefully pushed it far out of sight under 
the manger. After that they returned to the cherry 
tree, where, ostensibly, Willie engaged in helping 
Margery build the brick furnace; for Henry and the 
twins might appear at any moment and it was neces- 
sary to impress them with the belief that nothing 
of importance had taken place. 

But until the others came they might talk to their 
hearts’ content on the subject of their choice. And, 


THE LAME LADY’S PANSIES 


37 


mark you, now that Margery had accepted a pro- 
prietary interest in the little plant, she no longer 
questioned the veracity of Willie’s story. On the 
contrary, she took great pains to remove from her 
mind every possible doubt, making Willie relate 
again and again how it had all happened, and insist- 
ing upon hearing, verbatim, just what the Lame 
Lady had said, and what he had replied. Prompted 
by the fertility of Margery’s inquiries, Willie’s nar- 
rative soon rounded itself out bravely, padded with a 
wealth of most convincing detail. For example, 
Margery asked how the Lame Lady was dressed. 
At first, Willie remembered her in white, but then, 
it might have been pink, he said. When Margery 
was surprised that it wasn’t black, he immediately 
recalled distinctly that true enough it was black. 
He wasn’t altogether sure whether the cane she car- 
ried was gold-headed, or plain like an umbrella- 
handle; but he rather inclined to the umbrella han- 
dle. . . . Yes, she had asked him his name, 

and where he lived, and — this came late in the af- 
ternoon in the nature of a happy inspiration — she 
told him she had often seen him with a little girl 
who had short hair, and she wanted to know who 
the little girl was. 

“ Did she really, Willie? ” Margery asked breath- 
lessly. 

“ Yes, and I said you were my cousin.” 

“Oh, Willie, how could you tell such a story?” 
Margery looked at him reproachfully. 

“ I didn’t think it was any of her business, anyway, 
who you were.” 

“ But you might have told her after the nice way 
she treated you and gave you the pansy. And she 


38 THE YOUNG IDEA 

said she would give you some more, didn’t she, Wil- 
lie?” 

Willie acknowledged that she had, even specifying 
the time he was to come. 

“ When, Willie? ” 

“ In the early afternoon, she said, when the street 
is quiet and they ain’t no one around. You see 
she don’t want people to know she’s giving me things. 

I guess I’ll go to-morrow afternoon.” 

“ Say, Willie.” 

“Well?” 

“ Do you think she’d care if I went with you to- 
morrow? ” 

Willie wagged his head doubtfully. 

“ I don’t know about that. She said to come 
alone. But maybe now — ” , 

“ Oh, go on, let me. I won’t tell no one.” | 

“Will you cross your heart you won’t tell?” 

“ Of course I won’t. You know I won’t.” 

Then conversation turned to bricks and furnaces, , 
for they heard Henry’s whistle approaching, and it ( 
was time to assume a feverish interest in other things. 

The plan for the afternoon call of the next day, 
though long discussed, was very simple. After j 
luncheon Margery was to await a signal from Willie, 
at which, unobserved by her older brother and sis- | 
ters, she was to slip through the fence into Willie’s 
yard, whence they would proceed together to the 
Lame Lady’s house. The Lame Lady lived on the 
same street with Willie Jones, some two squares 
west. Her home was somewhat more imposing 
than others in the immediate neighborhood and had 
a wider stretch of lawn, over which shrubs and flow- 
ers were scattered in great profusion. Close to the 


THE LAME LADY’S PANSIES 


39 


porch was a bed built up in rocks and planted in 
ferns and pansies. This was the rockery from 
which Willie’s pansy had come. 

As they approached the Lame Lady’s house Wil- 
! lie whispered a few terse directions: 

“ Now just walk along quiet like nothing was the 
matter, and if you see anyone in the Lame Lady’s 
house or on the street just keep on walking. But if 
they ain’t no one in sight when you come in front 
of the rockery, sneak up real soft, scoop up a pansy, 
and run. If someone in the Lame Lady’s house 
opens a door or window before you’ve got your 
pansy, pretend you’re coming up to ask a question, 
j and say, ‘ Will you please tell me where Gladys 
Bailey lives? ’ ” 

For a moment Margery gasped astonishment as 
’ the elaborate story of yesterday, which without doubt 
she had finally made herself believe true, came tum- 
bling down. But only for a moment. Before he 
had done speaking she gave Willie one quick nod of 
, comprehension. 

I Willie’s directions were followed without mishap, 
i When they reached that part of the pavement on 
line with the rockery there was nothing in sight or 
hearing to disturb the drowsiness of mid-afternoon. 
Bent half double, they sped across the lawn with 
the lightness and stealth of little Indians, hung an 
instant over the rockery, and were off, disappearing 
up the street in the veriest twinkle of time. They 
did not stop running until, safe from pursuit or de- 
tection behind the clump of lilacs in Willie’s back 
yard, they flung themselves exhausted on the grass. 

When they sat up to take stock of the treasures 
they had snatched, they found Willie’s pansy a beau- 


40 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


tiful yellow one with three blooms and roots intact. 
Margery’s was soft blue, but in her inexperience she 
had carried it off without roots. 

“ Next time,” Willie admonished, “ stick your | 
hand ’way down in the dirt. Needn’t be afraid to i 
take your time; ain’t no one going to catch you.” 'j 
“Are we going back again, Willie?” Remem- 1| 
bering the terrors so lately passed through, Margery [ 
was a little alarmed at the thought. (j 

“ Of course we are. Not this afternoon, though. 
To-morrow.” [j 

And they did go to-morrow, and the next to-mor- 
row, and several following. Let the record of these 
days of shame be brief as possible. Enough to know 
they covered the inside of a week from Tuesday to 
Saturday. What made them continue so long it is !| 
impossible to say; but it may be stated positively 
that it was not the growing beauty of the pansy box. ' 
That was a horrible and inexplicable failure from the 
first. The pansies did not exactly wilt or wither; , 
they were too well watered for that; but leaves and i 
flowers curled up in the most unexpected fashion and I 
took on miserable sickly hues. In passing, it should i 
also be added that, during this time, to all outward 1 
appearances both young people were models of good 
behavior. They answered promptly when called, 
did as they were told to do without arguing, and, 
altogether, were so unnaturally good that their par- 
ents should have suspected something wrong. 

It was, of course, inevitable that the end should 
come some time, but it might not have come just 
when it did and as it did, if long impunity had not 
made both criminals a trifle careless. On Friday 
afternoon as they were making off with their booty. 


THE LAME LADY’S PANSIES 


41 


the front door of the Lame Lady’s house opened 
and the Lame Lady herself appeared. Persuading 
themselves against all reason that she had not after 
all seen them, Margery and Willie came back at 
their accustomed hour the following day. 

They had just reached the rockery when suddenly, 
without any warning, a voice called out, “ Children ! 
Oh, children I ” They looked up, and there on the 
porch a few feet away stood the Lame Lady. How 
she got there they never knew. A moment before 
the porch was empty and there had been no sound 
of an opening door. 

Now, if the Lame Lady had shown any signs of 
anger, or demanded roughly what they were doing 
among her flowers, Margery and Willie would have 
fled without the loss of a second. As it was, they 
remained rooted with embarrassment and surprise, 
for the Lame Lady was smiling at them and nodding 
her head as though it were the most natural thing in 
the world that they should be stealing her pansies. 
And as she smiled, she beckoned to them with a let- 
ter. 

“ I’m so glad you’re here, for I need someone to 
post this letter. You’ll do it, won’t you? ” 

Margery looked at her stupidly without answer- 
ing; but Willie, who had been carefully brought up 
to speak when he was spoken to, succeeded in getting 
out a mechanical, “ Yes, ma’am.” 

Under the Lame Lady’s compelling smile they 
both dragged themselves to the porch and slowly 
mounted the steps. 

“ Bless me,” said the Lame Lady pleasantly, when 
they stood before her waiting to receive the letter, 
“ it seems to me I’ve got two pennies somewhere.” 


42 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


She hobbled over to a table and began rummaging 
in a work-box. 

“ Here,” she said, pushing a bench towards them. 
“ Sit down and be comfortable while I hunt the pen- 
nies.” 

So they sat down, and when the Lame Lady had 
found the pennies she gave them each one. 

“ But I don’t believe you need go yet,” she said. 
“ It isn’t time for the postman. I’m sure. Suppose 
you make me a little visit.” 

Margery remained silent, and Willie again mur- 
mured a polite, “ Yes, ma’am.” 

Thereupon, the Lame Lady very sociably drew 
up a chair and inquired the names of her new ac- 
quaintances, regarding them, meanwhile, with an ex- 
pression as frankly unsuspicious as it was friendly. 
Margery and Willie stared at her unblinkingly. 
Yet in spite of their long gaze it is not likely that 
they saw the Lame Lady’s face with any distinctness 
nor fathomed its meaning from eyes that were tired 
and worn as though from suffering or sleepless- 
ness. It is even doubtful whether they noticed that 
her dress was black, as Margery had surmised, and 
her cane ivory-headed and not the umbrella handle 
of Willie’s false report. But there can be no doubt 
that there was one thing which they did see and 
understand, namely, the kindly overtures for friend- 
ship which the Lame Lady was making them. She 
was obviously bent on pleasing, and, what is even 
more to the point, knew how to please. Easily and 
gracefully she treated them as though they were rea- 
sonable beings like herself, and at that particular 
moment her guests, whom it was a pleasure to en- 
tertain. So her appeal was deliciously flattering and 


THE LAME LADY’S PANSIES 


43 


would have won the approval and gratitude of any 
discerning person. 

But somehow it did not reassure Margery and 
Willie as very plainly it should. Instead, it left 
them disquieted and strangely uncomfortable. To 
be sure, they realized at once that the Lame Lady 
was a woman of unusual worth, and they were will- 
ing, nay, even anxious, to let her know their rapidly 
growing admiration. But something cold and 
creepy which kept flitting about behind them and 
peeping over their shoulders seemed to deprive them 
of all power of thought and speech. 

“ What a very warm day this is. Doesn’t it seem 
so to you? ” the Lame Lady began, putting into her 
tone a depth and feeling that grown-ups seldom use 
except to one another. 

Willie Jones answered, “ Yes, ma’am.” 

“ You must be very thirsty, both of you. I am 
and I haven’t been out in the sun. How would you 
like a drink of lemonade? ” 

Heavens, lemonade! Was the Lame Lady clair- 
voyant? Lemonade was exactly what they both 
wanted. 

“ You like lemonade, don’t you, Margery? ” 

Margery, breathing a little hard, her mouth open, 
her face red, gazed at the Lame Lady, fascinated 
and silent. When Willie had nudged her twice she 
awakened enough to give one stupid nod of assent, 
after which she sank again into a state of hypnotic 
contemplation. 

“ Richard 1 ” the Lame Lady called, rapping 
her cane sharply on the porch. 

A colored man in a white coat answered the sum- 


mons. 


44 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


“ Richard, will you make us a large pitcher of 
lemonade? Hurry, because we’re very thirsty. 
Bring a plate of those little cakes with white icing, 
too; and don’t forget the sugar bowl.” 

Then the Lame Lady returned to her society man- 
ner, chatting along about nothing in particular, while 
Margery and Willie awaited hungrily the reappear- 
ance of Richard. When he came, their fondest 
hopes were realized. The pitcher really was large; 
at least three glasses for each of them, Willie cal- ■ 
culated. There were nine round cakes with icing. 
Suppose the Lame Lady, being grown up, ate but 
one, that would leave four apiece. 

“ Margery first, because she’s a girl,” the Lame 
Lady said, pouring out a glass of lemonade. “ And, j 
my dear, just take all the sugar you want. Here’s 
a spoon to stir it.” 

With an unlimited supply of sugar at hand, need 
it be said that the lemonade was delicious? It was 
almost intoxicating! When it is known that the i 
round cakes with icing were as good as they looked, I 
the possibilities of the glorious repast can readily | 
be conceived. 

The first glass of lemonade and the first cake 
went down in ravenous haste. Then in that insig- 
nificant interval of time between the taking of the 
last bite of the first cake and the first bite of 
the second cake, a psychic change occurred. It 
came to Margery first. In the very act of taking 
the first bite of the second cake, she stopped in 
blank dismay. How could she sit there drinking 
the Lame Lady’s lemonade and eating the Lame 
Lady’s cakes just as though she had never stolen 
one — one, indeed ; one, two, three, four of the 


THE LAME LADY’S PANSIES 


45 


Lame Lady’s pansies I Oh, if they had only been 
someone else’s pansies! To think of treating this 
sweet, kind, unsuspecting angel sol She felt that 
another morsel of the Lame Lady’s cakes, another 
sip of the Lame Lady’s lemonade would choke her. 
i She couldn’t, no, she couldn’t take another; and yet 
— yet she couldn’t stop I The first cake had simply 
whetted her appetite for more, and the second glass 
of lemonade — the bare thought of losing it made 
her sick at heart, for it was even sweeter than the 
first, yes, by two more spoonfuls of sugar, to say 
nothing of what remained over in the bottom of 
the glass. Thus a strong sense of honor that pro- 
tested against accepting the hospitality of one she 
had wronged so deeply, and a strong appetite that 
kept calling for more cakes and more lemonade 
struggled within her. At the moment appetite 
seemed victorious, the sense of honor leaped for- 
ward, and the clash of the two resulted in a chok- 
ing sound that ended in a snuffle. The Lame Lady 
heard the snuffle, but, not divining the cause, quietly 
slipped a handkerchief into Margery’s hand. Alas, 
it was not a handkerchief Margery needed, yet she 
had to use it, for how could she explain? 

Willie, too, was undergoing the first torments of 
remorse. Brought up more strictly than Margery 
on the doctrines of good and evil, his conscience, 
once aroused, carried him to further extremes. His 
first choking, instead of ending in a gentle snuffle, 
grew so violent that the Lame Lady had to pound 
him on the back, and pour lemonade down his throat. 
He wondered the lemonade did not choke him out- 
right rather than quiet him. That had been a judg- 
ment easy to understand. Surely stealing pansies 


46 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


was worse than saying: Go up, thou bald head, go! 
And you know what happened to those children. 

But he recovered from his choking, and the Lame 
Lady simply insisted on his taking more cakes and 
more lemonade, and he had to accept, for he could 
not say that he did not want any more. That would 
be to add lying to his other sin, and goodness knows 
he had enough to answer for already. 

When all the cakes were gone the Lame Lady 
apologized because there had been so few. How- 
ever, there were some gingersnaps in the dining- 
room; that is, if they liked gingersnaps. Margery 
gave a heart-broken little nod, and Willie a faint, 
sad, Yes, ma’am.” So Richard was called again, 
and Margery and Willie ate gingersnaps with the 
rest of the lemonade. When the lemonade was 
finished, the Lame Lady divided the remaining gin- 
gersnaps into two equal piles, putting one into one 
of the breast pockets of Willie’s shirtwaist for him- 
self, and the other into the corresponding pocket on 
the other side for Margery, to be delivered to her 
when they parted at the fence. 

“ And now how would you like to come out to 
the stable and see the pigeons and the kittens? ” 

Pigeons! Kittens! Was there any joy of earth 
or heaven that this adorable creature was not going 
to offer them ! 

They followed her through the side garden into 
the stable yard, where one large dog and several 
small ones fawned upon them and frisked about, yelp- 
ing and barking. 

“ The big dog’s name is Duke,” the Lame Lady 
said. 


He bites, doesn’t he? ” asked Willie. He had 


THE LAME LADY’S PANSIES 


47 

often seen Duke at a distance, but had never cared 
to risk familiarities with him. 

The Lame Lady laughed. “ He does sometimes. 
Just pick up that box, Willie, and run, and see what 
! happens.” 

Willie did as he was directed, and in an instant 
the Great Dane was upon him clamping an arm be- 
tween two powerful jaws. Willie tried to break 
away and the jaws closed more firmly. 

“ Stand still,” the Lame Lady warned, “ or Duke 
will hurt you. You see he thinks you’re trying to 
steal something from us, and he’ll hold on until I 
tell him it’s all right. My, how would you like to 
be a burglar or a thief and have Duke get after you? 

I It wouldn’t be any fun, would it? But he makes 
; mistakes sometimes with book agents and peddlers 
' and frightens them dreadfully. That’s the reason 
I’ve been keeping him penned up lately. About two 
, weeks ago a tramp came into the yard . . .” 

The Lame Lady chatted on, and Duke awaiting 
I a signal from her, stood patient and calm, his teeth 
I still encircling Willie’s arm. Willie could not move, 

' yet that did not frighten him, for he knew the Lame 
Lady would not let Duke hurt him. But there was 
i something, the mere thought of which made him 
j sick and weak. What if Duke had not been penned 
I up of late? What if some afternoon, when he, 
Willie Jones, had just scooped up a pansy, this 
monster of a dog had fallen upon him and pinned 
him to the ground? He saw with horribly vivid 
imagination how it would all have turned out: a 
crowd would gather — all the people in the neigh- 
borhood who knew him, and they would point at 
him and at the pansy and whisper to each other; 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


48 

and presently a burly policeman would come and 
put handcuffs on him, and lead him home through 
the streets for his mother to see him one last time 
before the jail swallowed him up. His poor mother ! 
And after the way she had labored over him to 
teach him the commandments, too! How it would 
grieve her to hear that he had broken one without 
a moment’s hesitation! Oh, how many times she 
had warned him that stealing led to the gallows, and 
he hadn’t listened, he hadn’t paid any attention. 
And to think that if Duke had been running free 
the last few days, he, Willie Jones, might long since 
have been hanged! Perhaps God, wishing to give 
him one more chance, had put it into the Lame 
Lady’s heart to pen Duke up. Oh, if God would 
only forgive him this time, he would reform — hon- 
est, he would. 

“ Please make Duke let Willie go. He scares 
me,” whimpered Margery, imploringly. 

“ Here, Duke,” the Lame Lady called. 

The iron jaws relaxed, and Willie, feeling sud- 
denly comforted and happy, followed the Lame 
Lady and Margery into the stable. It was all very 
plain to him now. He had repented and God had 
accepted his repentance and was giving him another 
chance. And the air was sweet and the sunlight 
bright once more, and the joy of forgiveness welling 
up within him was soon bubbling over in laughter 
and smiles. 

To an ordinary observer the kittens might not 
have seemed very interesting, for they were ugly, 
mewling little creatures, a few days old, with eyes 
just open and legs still weak and wobbly. Mar- 
gery, however, hugged them to her breast enrap- 


THE LAME LADY’S PANSIES 


49 


tured, and would have been content to linger over 
them all afternoon. But there were pigeons still 
to visit, and the Lame Lady at length coaxed her 
on by suggesting that she carry one of the kittens 
with her. 

Built out from one end of the loft they found a 
large bird-house pierced in all directions with win- 
dows and doors through which pigeons were flying 
in and out every moment. It seemed to Willie 
there were hundreds of them, all colors and all 
varieties. He had never seen so many except at 
the Zoo and the bird store. In one nest there were 
four squabs in plain view which, in spite of present 
appearances, the Lame Lady assured him were 
destined to grow up into handsome fantails. 

“ If Mr. Strong were here,” she added, “ he could 
tell you all about squabs and how to take care of 
them.” 

Mr. Strong, it seemed, was the husband of the 
Lame Lady and the owner of the pigeons. 

Do you like pigeons, Willie? ” 

Did he like pigeons? Well, I wonder! He was 
breathing fast and deep with enjoyment and ex- 
citement. This close inspection of the pigeon-house 
was just about the dandiest treat he had had for 
many a long day. Somewhere deep down there was 
also a lurking consciousness that it was probably 
being granted him as a sign of God’s approbation 
following his repentance. The thought made him 
glow all over with virtuous self-approval. He could 
not help glancing at Margery with just that modi- 
cum of superiority which the conscious saint must 
ever feel for the conscious sinner. For it was evi- 
dent that no inner illumination had yet scattered 
4 


50 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


the gloom in Margery’s heart. She was still hold- 
ing the squalling kitten to her breast, lovingly, 
tragically, getting from it, as it were, what meager 
comfort she could before leaving forever this Eden 
of forfeited delights. 

“ Do you know, Willie,” the Lame Lady said 
slowly, “ I believe that if I asked Mr. Strong he 
would give you a pair of those squabs. How would 
you like that? ” 

Willie let out one whoop of joy. “ Do you think 
he would? ” he shouted. 

“ And I have an idea,” the Lame Lady continued, 
“ that I’d like to give Margery the little kitten she’s 
nursing. Of course, you couldn’t take the kitten 
to-day, nor the squabs either; they’re all too young. 
But you could have the squabs in a week or so, 
Willie, and Margery could have her kitten as soon 
as it’s big enough. What do you say to that, Mar- 
gery?” 

Margery said nothing. Her anguish was too 
deep for words. She could scarcely hold the sobs 
down. She knew they would come if she tried to 
speak. But after all what was there to say? Alas, 
between her and the Lame Lady a wide gulf yawned, 
and the Lame Lady could not, if she would, reach 
over and hand her a kitten. 

The pause was awkward, not so much for Mar- 
gery, who was absorbed in her own despair, as for 
Willie. After his first glad outburst, Margery’s 
attitude robbed him of further confidence. Plague 
take her, anyway; why was she acting so? Why 
couldn’t she say “ Thank you ” for the kitten, and 
let him accept the squabs without any more non- 
sense? Besides, he didn’t see why he hadn’t a right 


THE LAME LADY’S PANSIES 


51 


to them, anyhow, for wasn’t he forgiven? Yet in 
spite of mental lashings his hopes fell, his heart grew 
chill, and a dark foreboding that the squabs would 
never be his came over him. 

Then he understood. Theology again offered 
the key to the situation. Sooner or later punish- 
ment always overtakes the wicked. And If it al- 
ways does, you can’t get out of It. A while before 
he had supposed forgiveness meant exemption from 
punishment, and It didn’t at all; It was something 
entirely different. ... So this then was his 
punishment — to have the squabs offered him and 
never be able to accept them. . . . Forgive- 

ness, Indeed; no wonder it came cheap, for if It 
couldn’t help a person one little weeny bit, what 
good was It, anyway ? And In the bitterness of that 
thought, for one Impious moment Willie Jones was 
ready to toss his forgiveness back. 

Silent and woe-begone the Lame Lady’s guests re- 
turned to the front porch. Their only thought now 
was to get away as soon as possible. Human en- 
durance had reached Its limit. 

“ If we haven’t forgotten all about the letter,” the 
Lame Lady said, laughing softly, and seating her- 
self on the porch steps. “ The postman must have 
gone by long ago. But no matter. Take it now 
and drop It in the box on your way home.” 

Willie got the letter and then with Margery stood 
before the Lame Lady awaiting dismissal. 

“ Good-by, dears. And remember you’re coming 
next Saturday afternoon to see how the squabs and 
the kittens are getting on.” 

“ Good-by,” two very subdued little voices mur- 
mured. But the two little figures made no move- 


52 THE YOUNG IDEA 

ment to go. Something in the Lame Lady’s gaze 
held them. 

“ Do you know,” she said at last, “ I should like 
to give you both a little bunch of pansies — that’s 
for thoughts.” Through a cold mist they saw her 
smiling at them strangely. ‘‘ But I can’t, for some 
chickens or something have rooted up my pansy 
bed.” 

Willie swallowed hard, and pulled back sharply, 
all a-quiver with the instinct of flight. But Mar- 
gery stood her ground hopelessly. For her this was 
the end; she could stand the strain no longer. 

“No! No!” she said, breaking down com- 
pletely. “It was us! It was us! We did it! 
We did it! ” 

Tears blinded her and deep sobs choked further 
utterance. For a moment she groped about uncer- 
tainly, and then found refuge at the Lame Lady’s 
feet, her head in the Lame Lady’s lap. At first she 
did not try to say more, but wept on in unrestrained 
abandon. And after all those hours of repression 
how soothing it felt to be able at last to cry and cry 
and cry as much as she liked. The Lame Lady 
knew all. She knew and if she never cared to speak 
to them again — well, at least, she knew. And 
Margery sobbed on to her heart’s content. 

Willie, being a boy, could not publicly indulge in 
tears, however tearful he felt. But as no one was 
paying any attention he was able to turn his back 
for a few moments and in comparative safety quiet 
the most insistent of his emotions. Then, when 
Margery’s passion had exhausted itself, he faced 
about, and, pulling his hat down hard, cleared his 
throat and glared at the Lame Lady fiercely. 


THE LAME LADY’S PANSIES 


53 


You needn’t give me them old squabs,” he said 
gruffly. “ I don’t want ’em.” 

“I can’t — I can’t — take — take the little 
kitty,” quavered Margery, going off into fresh 
sobs. 

Willie Jones very deliberately emptied first one 
pocket and then the other of live gingersnaps each, 
and arranged them neatly in two piles on the porch 
floor. 

“ There’s your old gingersnaps,” he said, in tones 
of the most withering sarcasm. “ And there’s your 
two old pennies.” As he spoke, he opened the 
clenched hand that Margery held up, took her hot 
penny, and laid it down beside his own. 

When all was done, he faced the Lame Lady 
again, and said, in a voice that was at once a chal- 
lenge and a defiance, “ Now then! ” 

He was just waiting for the Lame Lady to say 
something, and then he would tell her he wasn’t 
afraid of her, anyway, and he was glad he had 
stolen her old pansies. But the Lame Lady said 
nothing. She was looking this way and that in the 
most non-committal fashion, quite as though she 
were not an interested party at all. In desperation 
Willie had to turn his back again. 

Presently he was seated on the lower porch step, 
and he could feel the Lame Lady’s dress against his 
shoulder. Mentally, he just dared the Lame Lady 
to push him away. As she made no effort to push 
him away, he moved a little nearer. Even then 
nothing happened. Seconds that seemed like 
minutes and minutes as long as hours dragged by. 
An age passed and he found his cheek against the 
Lame Lady’s knee. 


54 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


They were all talking after a time, sadly and 
quietly, to be sure, but naturally. Bit by bit the 
whole miserable story came out. The Lame Lady 
did not cut short their self-reproaches, and she did 
not tell them that they had already been punished 
enough this time. On the contrary she silently ac- 
quiesced in all they said. Stealing seemed to her 
just as awful as it did to them, perhaps worse. Any- 
one who took what did not belong to him was indeed 
guilty of a very grievous sin, and it was only proper 
that he should feel his guilt. 

Then slowly, when the outlook seemed darkest, 
it began to dawn upon them that while the Lame 
Lady scorned and despised the act of which they 
had been guilty, she did not scorn or despise them. 
Indeed, she was ready to believe in them still, not- 
withstanding all that had gone before. And she did 
not question their sincerity when they declared that 
they were truly sorry and would try never to do 
such a thing again. If ever they did, even if it 
were not her pansies or anything belonging to her, 
she would feel more deeply grieved than she could 
tell them. That was because she loved them, don’t 
you understand? for when you love a person nothing 
grieves you so much as to see that person do some- 
thing wrong. . . . 

Two very chastened little people walked slowly 
homeward that afternoon. Horses could not have 
driven them to look with eyes of sinful lust upon 
pansies or anything else along the road. They had 
had enough of that sort of thing. Willie’s chest 
again bulged out, for the Lame Lady, without com- 
ment, had replaced the gingersnaps and pennies when 
she kissed them both good-by. “ And don’t for- 


THE LAME LADY’S PANSIES 


55 


get,” she had said in parting, “ that you’re to come 
to see me next Saturday afternoon.” Could she 
mean, even yet — oh, no, no, she couldn’t mean 
that! . . 

Margery was so quiet at supper and ate so little 
that her father thought she must be sick, and felt 
her head to see if she were feverish. And Willie 
Jones was so docile about getting his golden text for 
Sunday-school that his mother spent a happy evening 
believing that, after all, Willie might grow up with 
a desire to enter the ministry. 


56 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


Here are the verses that tell about what happened 
to the children that said, Go up, thou baldhead, 
go!’^ They are entitled: 

AGAINST SCOFFING AND CALLING NAMES 

Our tongues were made to bless the Lord 
And not speak ill of men; 

.When others give a railing word 
We must not rail again. 

Cross words and angry names require 
To be chastis’d at school ; 

And he’s in danger of hell-fire, 

That calls his brother, fool. 

But lips that dare be so profane. 

To mock, and jeer, and scoff. 

At holy things and holy men, 

The Lord shall cut them off. 

When children in their wanton play. 

Serv’d old Elisha so; 

And bid the prophet go his way, 

“ Go up, thou baldhead, go ! ” 

God quickly stopp’d their wicked breath, 

And sent two raging bears. 

That tore them limb from limb to death. 

With blood, and groans, and tears. 

Great God, how terrible art thou 
To sinners ne’er so young! 

Grant me thy grace, and teach me how 
To tame and rule my tongue. 


— Dr. Watts. 







4 











Ill 


A LITTLE DAUGHTER OF EVE 

What are Little Boys made of? 

What are Little Girls made of? 

a IN WHICH MARGERY DISCOVERS THE LIMITATIONS 
" OF SEX 

S IX small girls, their chairs drawn as closely 
together as possible, gazed as Miss Georgi- 
ana Taylor In speechless, unwinking fas- 
cination. Miss Georglana nodded her pretty head 
In one direction, shook her prettier curls in another, 
smiled here, threw a glance there, and each small 
' girl as she received the coveted attention grew rigid 
' with joy, breathed hard, and cast a look of scorn 
and triumph upon her circling companions. These, 
i enraptured with similar attentions just received or 
' about to come, paid no heed to the passing favorite 
I but kept their round eyes fixed, glued, riveted upon 
; the enchanting Miss Georglana. Other teachers 
j who were troubled with what Is termed “ discipline ” 
regarded Miss Georglana with a puzzled envy 
I which shaded, alas. Into dark suspicion. It was 
simply Inconceivable that anyone should command 
such interest with the Sunday School lesson pure and 
simple. As sure as you’re alive — I am putting Into 
words the unworded suspicions of Miss Georgiana’s 
59 


6o 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


fellow teachers — as sure as you’re alive, she’s tell- ' 
ing ’em stories! As though a person of Miss'! 
Georgiana’s charms would have to tell stories I ' 
How could they be so blind to the spell of her sweet, 
taking ways 1 

“ And what do you think? ” she was saying. She 
paused to survey the circle and during the pause the 
emphasis of her remark got somehow misplaced ( 
until each small girl heard the question as though 
addressed to herself alone: What do you think? i 
You? It was deliciously flattering. 

“ You just can’t guess! ” ] 

Another pause during which they just could not. i 

“ Well; a week from next Friday we’re going to j 
have an Ice Cream Social I Ice Cream I Yum- I 
yum I ” 

Six small girls breathed out a slow, ecstatic 
“ Oh! ” 

“ There’s to be an entertainment, music and things I 
first, and then the Ice Cream and Cake. Now who t 
wants to go? ” 

“ I do ! I do ! ” cried each segment of the circle i 
with the unanimity of the various parts of a mechan- j 
ical toy operated by a single wire. ' I 

“Then all you’ve got to do,” — Miss Georgiana’^ 
beamed upon them a radiance positively blinding — 

“ All you’ve got to do is sell a few tickets ! ” 

Over each little face came the same expression of 
incredulous astonishment. “ Gracious ! ” the expres- 
sion said, “ Is that all? ” 

“ Yes,” Miss Georgiana assured them vigorously. 

“ That’s all. The tickets are a quarter each. They 
are done up in little packets of seven. If you sell 
six, the seventh ticket is for yourself.” 


A LITTLE DAUGHTER OF EVE 6i 


11 . One little girl moved about restlessly, tried two 
SI or three times to speak, and finally succeeded. 

)1 “ But listen. Miss Georgiana. What if you sell 

two packs of tickets, what do you get then ? ” 

“ Why, dear, then you will get two tickets for 
i£ yourself.” 

“ But listen. Miss Georgiana. You don’t need 
d two tickets for yourself.” 

li Miss Georgiana cocked her head to one side like 
} a bright-eyed robin and considered the situation. 

“ Well, Margery, if I earned an extra ticket that 
I did not want. I’ll tell you what I’d do: I’d sell 
it and keep the quarter. You know it’s your ticket 
3 and you may do with it whatever you like, and, be- 
sides, it’s worth a quarter.” 

Six small girls again breathed out a slow, ecstatic, 
“ Oh I ” deprived of further speech by this dazzling, 
this overwhelming vision of sudden wealth. 

In the teachers’ meeting after Sunday School, 
some of the teachers complained of the difficulties 
they had had in distributing tickets. 

“ Is that so? ” Miss Georgiana remarked in tones 
of great meekness and concern. “ Why, I had no 
trouble at all. Everyone of my little girls insisted 
on taking fourteen.” 

“ Huh ! ” snorted several of Miss Georgiana’s fel- 
low teachers. 

“Willie! Oh, Willie!” 

Willie Jones, halfway home from Sunday School, 
very deliberately stopped, turned and waited. Mar- 
gery, breathless with running, for a moment could 
do nothing but wave at him a handful of the tickets 
for the coming social. 


62 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


“ Listen, Willie. Got any tickets? ” 

“ Aw, rats ! What d’ I want with tickets ? What 
d’ I want to kill myself selling six old tickets just for 
one measly plate o’ ice cream when you can get all 
the ice cream cone you want for a cent? Besides, 
if my mother wants to go. I’ll tease till she takes 
me.” 

“ But, Willie, listen. If you earn two extra 
tickets you can sell the second one and keep the 
quarter. Miss Georgiana, she says — ” 

Willie Jones did not stop to hear more but, with 
a hurried, “Wait for me I ” sped back the way he 
had just come. Margery called after him once but 
he paid no heed. In a short time he returned once 
more leisurely and cool. 

“ I got there just as he was lockin’ the desk and 
at first he didn’t want to give ’em to me.” 

Margery got down to business at once. 

“ Now, listen, Willie. Most everyone took 
tickets so we’ll have to work awful hard to sell 
ours.” 

Willie nodded. 

“ And I think we better do like Gladys Bailey 
and Henry and twins did last time.” 

“ How was that? ” 

“ They went in partnership. Then Gladys 
divided up all the streets and put two ticket-sellers 
to each street. Gladys and Henry went together 
and when they came to one of their streets Gladys 
took one side and Henry the other. Then every 
night everyone gave Gladys all the money they 
made ’cause Gladys was treasurer. And when it 
was all over she divided and that way they all sold 


A LITTLE DAUGHTER OF EVE 63 

!i the same number of tickets. And they sold awful 
I many.” 

I “ I guess I’ll be treasurer,” Willie Jones an- 
p nounced. 

L “ Then shall we do that way? ” 
r “ Sure.” 

Theoretically it was a good system and with Mar- 
gery and Willie worked smoothly the first week. 
Then came the afternoon when it failed through one 
party to the agreement losing all sense of right and 
fairness and shamelessly foisting upon the other the 
full burden of labor. 

In their canvassing they had finished Maplewood 
proper, penetrated the exclusive shade of Boulevard 
Place, and reached the not at all exclusive confines 
of East Maplewood where there were groceries and 
I stores, carbarns and saloons, and streets of small 
I homes, cheap flats and cheaper tenements. It was 
i an unfamiliar neighborhood to them both and a bit 
1 fearsome when it came to the tenement-houses with 
their dark, smelly stairs and long, unexplored hall- 
ji ways. 

I As they turned down the first street off Main 
: Avenue, Willie, with true manliness of feeling, as- 
! signed to Margery the right hand side which was 
lined with cottages only and prepared himself to 
enter the tenements on the left. 

“ You ain’t afraid to go in alone, are you, 

! Willie?” 

! “ N-n-o, not exactly afraid. But you better go 
j along slow and If you don’t see me come out quick 
►j you better wait for me down at the second corner.” 

Margery saw him emerge safely from the first 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


64 

tenement and enter the second which was some dis- 
tance beyond. From this he did not reappear and 
she, her cottages soon done, waited for him at the 
corner until she felt herself growing apprehensive. 
Finally for something to do, she canvassed another 
square of cottages and then, crossing the street, be- 
gan to work her way back on Willie’s side. 

At last, reaching the tenement from which now, 
she felt sure, he had never come out, she stopped 
to gaze up at its many windows and wonder in what 
room her poor friend lay bound, perhaps, and 
gagged. The house was a corner one and, with the 
hazy idea of looking at all its windows, Margery 
turned down the side street. In the rear the build- 
ing was one story high. The roof of this rear por- 
tion served as a yard or porch for the tenants of 
the second floor. Clothes lines stretched across 
heavy with washings and, at the far end, there was 
a little shed. A group of boys was gathered about 
this shed and among them one that looked like 
Willie Jones. Yes, it was he. 

Attracted by the intentness of Margery’s stare, a 
small boy piped out: “Hi, there. Sis! What you 
lookin’ at? ” The rest turned and Willie Jones saw. 
her. He stepped at once to the edge of the roof. 

“ Say, Margery, listen. I’ll be through here in 
just a minute. You go up to the corner and wait 
for me.” 

Anxiety gave way to relief and relief to a feeling 
of annoyance. Was a wave of the hand and a brief 
order to wait for his lordship a while longer the only 
return she was to get for all her fears and concern? 
Well, it would be many a long day before she would 
again allow herself to worry about Willie Jones! 


A LITTLE DAUGHTER OF EVE 65 

At the corner waiting was at first tedious for 
there was nothing to do but watch the cars go by 
and look In the windows of a small candy and no- 
tion store. In one window there was a tempting 
display of candy before which you could easily spend 
five minutes considering the most advantageous out- 
lay of a penny. The other window was filled with 
a miscellaneous assortment of ribbons, magazines 
and stationery. Here Margery’s wandering gaze 
settled at length on a box of note paper which was 
marked ONLY 25c. Margery saw at a glance it 
was dirt cheap. It was lovely pale green paper with 
pink lines and gilt edge and, at the top of each sheet 
and In one corner of each envelope, a beautiful spray 
of pink forget-me-nots deeply embossed. On the 
box there was the picture of a sweet, slender young 
lady with golden hair In the act of Intrusting a let- 
ter to a white dove from whose bill a long ribbon 
fluttered and curled. And the sweet young lady, 
because she was so sweet. Instantly reminded Mar- 
gery of someone the very thought of whom made 
her happy. For, be It known, notwithstanding 
some evidence to the contrary, Margery had a warm, 
romantic little heart which at this particular time was 
pouring forth its unsuspected treasures of love at 
the feet of the adorable creature who, every Sunday 
morning, heard her and five other little girls recite 
their Golden Text. Yes, the Paper Box Lady was 
almost the picture of her own beloved Miss Georgl- 
ana. To be sure. Miss Georglana’s hair was 
brown and her figure, well, say, plump. But deeper, 
stronger than any mere resemblance of face or 
figure was a common something which made you 
love them both for the same reason. And this 
5 


66 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


something was so unmistakable that, if you gazed 
long enough at the Paper Box Lady, you would be- ' 
gin to think it was Miss Georgiana herself smiling 
back at you. So it seemed to Margery into whose , 
mind a brand new thought suddenly popped. 
What a beautiful present for Miss Georgiana the 
box of pink forget-me-not paper would make! At ■ 
that, the significance of the price flashed upon her. 
Twenty-five cents ! Why that was the very twenty- ; 
five cents for which she was working, which she 
hoped to realize by the disposal of the seventh ticket , 
of the second packet. She had to laugh for not ; 
knowing till now why she had been so anxious to i 
earn that twenty-five cents. Then she grew serious ; 
as she remembered that it was as yet unearned. To 
be sure, the time for work was only half gone by; a 
whole week remained. A whole week ; yes ; a whole ■ 
week during any moment of which the pale green | 
paper might be spied by some wealthy passerby and J 
so be lost forever. i 

Margery turned sadly from the window and asked | 
herself irritably what in the world could be keep- t 
ing Willie Jones. She felt tired and looked about | 
for some place to rest. Nothing offered but the | 
curbstone. She seated herself there, a little to one I 
side of the crossing, and began idly to watch the 1 ’ 
people going by. Presently, a trim, precisely I 
dressed young woman with a handbag of books bore 
down upon her and, smiling a pained, rather piteous ; 
smile, she said, moving her head from side to side : 


“ Do you think it ladylike for a little girl to sit 
on the curbstone ? ” 

The piteous smile trembled on awaiting an an- 
swer while Margery gazed at it in silent, scornful 


A LITTLE DAUGHTER OF EVE 67 

fascination, comparing it, mentally, to the gay, in- 
fectious laugh of Miss Georgiana, the adored. 

“Do you?” the young woman persisted, still 
smiling and appealing. “ Tell me, my dear, do 
you? ” 

My deaVy indeed! That was too much. And 
thereupon Margery did tell her in two short sylla- 
bles which, though they scarcely answered the young 
woman’s question categorically, made Margery’s at- 
titude perfectly plain. Moreover, it was an answer 
Margery had been hoarding for just such a time as 
this when the occasion demanded strong language 
and the absence of all spying relatives allowed the 
necessary freedom of expression. So, looking the 
young woman straight in the face, Margery flung 
out a defiant: 

“ Aw, rats 1 ” 

The young woman’s smile broke with a snap. 
She blinked her eyes and opened her mouth. Then 
she closed her mouth, locked it, one might say, and 
walked on clutching her books tightly as though 
she feared Margery had designs on them. 

The exhilarating effect of that charming rodent 
expletive had not yet passed when Willie Jones ar- 
rived. They started homeward at once each too pre- 
occupied with thoughts of his own to note the silence 
of the other. They were in Boulevard Place before 
Margery remembered to inquire what Willie had 
found so entertaining on the tenement-house roof. 
She had to repeat her question before Willie under- 
stood that he was addressed. Then he answered. 

“ Rats,” he murmured, drawing a long, gentle 
sigh. 

Margery stared. She felt certain that he had not 


68 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


witnessed her encounter with the prim young woman 
and yet, from his tone, the word he used was not a 
refusal to answer her question. ‘‘ Rats ! ” she 
would have understood. But what he said was, 
“ Rats.” It was positively uncanny. 

“Willie Jones, what are you talking about?” 

“ Rats,” he repeated, dreamily. “ White rats.” 

“Where?” Margery jumped as he chanced to 
feel his pocket. 

“ On the tenement-house roof, of course. They’s 
a fella up there has a cage o’ them. They’re dan- 
dies. He’s sellin’ ’em for fifty cents a pair. Jim- 
iny, wisht I had fifty cents! You can make money 
off ’em, too, ’cause they get six or eight young ones 
every three months and you can sell the young ones 
for fifty cents a pair.” 

All the way home he rambled on about white rats. 
At the Blairs’ gate he returned to earth for a mo- 
ment. 

“ How many tickets did we sell to-day. Mar- 
gery?” 

Wcy indeed, and Margery answered pointedly: 
“ / sold one.” 

“ Jiminy, we’ll have to work harder than that 
to-morrow.” Willie spoke with a downright heart- 
iness which indicated that he, at any rate, bore no 
malice. 

The next day Willie thought it best to finish the 
uncompleted portion of White Rat Street. “ And 
if either of us gets done first,” he said, “ let’s cross 
the street and start selling from the other end until 
we meet each other like you did yesterday.” 

Margery caught the drift of this suggestion when 
they reached the White Rat Tenement and Willie 


A LITTLE DAUGHTER OF EVE 69 

suddenly remembered that he had to stop in there 
and see a fellow a minute. She had better go on, 
he said, and he would catch up with her. 

So she finished her side of the street and his also 
and got back to the White Rat Tenement before he 
had stirred from the roof. Again she had to wait 
for him at the corner where the only solace to her 
rising indignation was the sight of the Lovely Pale 
Green Paper with its Pink Forget-Me-Nots still un- 
sold. 

“ Fm awfully sorry to keep you waiting so long,” 
he began, when finally it suited him to appear. “ I 
started away three times and each time the fella 
called me back.” 

“ Called you back I Just you listen to one thing, 
Willie Jones: If you think Fm going to sell your 
share of tickets and my own, too, you’re badly mis- 
taken ’cause I ain’t.” 

“ That wasn’t fair of me this afternoon, now was 
it? Of course it wasn’t.” Willie admitted his 
fault so candidly that there was nothing more to say. 
He then let it be understood, that, in the future, no 
temptation on earth would ever again induce him 
to treat so shabbily the faithful partner of a business 
enterprise. 

His promises, however, proved no more binding 
than the pledges which a drunkard signs and signs 
again. What whiskey is to some men, white rats 
became to Willie Jones. Irresistibly they drew him 
from the path of duty. Day after day it was the 
same. The experience developed in him certain at- 
tributes of generalship. He learned to direct with 
considerable skill the movements of the force under 
him and to plan campaigns which covered minutely 


70 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


the territory radiating in all directions from his base 
of operations. What that base was, he never ac- 
knowledged in so many words, though he must have 
known and must have known that Margery knew. 

He gave up the policy of two people working the 
same street; it would save time for him to do one 
street alone and Margery another. So he would 
assign Margery a street and himself a street and, on 
the next occasion of assignments, the street Margery 
would receive invariably turned out to be his street 
of the time before. This elaborate self-deception 
filled Margery with unspeakable contempt, but Willie 
insisted on going through with it day after day. 

“ And we can meet,’’ he would say, “ at that little 
candy store.” 

“What little candy store?” Margery would ask, 
drawn against her will into acting the part expected 
of her. 

“ Don’t you remember ? At the corner of — 
of—” 

“The White Rat Street!” Margery would con- 
clude, savagely. 

“ Yes, that’s the one.” And Willie would smile, 
pleased and gently surprised that Margery should re- 
call so trivial a landmark as the White Rats. 

The Pale Green Note Paper was now a sight most 
harrowing to Margery’s feelings for, as the beauty of 
those Pink Forget-Me-Nots sank deeply and more 
deeply into her soul, the likelihood of ever possessing 
them grew less. She dated failure from the day 
Willie Jones took to White Rats. From that after- 
noon everything had gone wrong. Since then, day 
by day, the bough that bore the golden quarters had 
slowly lifted its precious fruit higher and higher. 


A LITTLE DAUGHTER OF EVE 71 

Finally, Margery began to doubt whether they would 
sell enough tickets for their joint admission. 

To add to her misery, a disquieting conviction 
gradually forced itself upon her mind. What if, 
after all, Willie Jones were not the cause of all her 
troubles but merely the blind instrument of a fate 
which was dealing out to her a deserved punishment ! 
The first mention of those hideous White Rats had 
trod so closely upon her own impudent, for aught 
she knew, blasphemous retort to the Prim Young 
Woman that she simply had to acknowledge the 
striking sequence of all following events. In her 
arrogance she had said to the Prim Young Woman, 
“ Rats ! ” and, lo, from that day she* herself had 
been haunted by Rats. The judgment she had 
called down upon another was descending' on her 
own pate. 

On Friday, the last day, the total sales amounted 
to eleven, only eleven. In the discouragement of 
failure, Margery trudged home moody and silent. 
Willie Jones, on the contrary, was cheerful enough. 
He had remarks to make on the subjects of the day, 
comments on passersby, and some items of general 
interest on the life and habits of White Rats. 

“ They say White Rats is gettin’ scarce. Pretty 
soon they’ll be seventy-five cents — ” 

‘‘ Will you shut up on White Rats ! I hate ’em 
and I hate you, too, Willie Jones, the mean way you 
been acting! ” 

“ Why, Margery, what’s the matter? ” 

“ What’s the matter and it’s Friday afternoon and 
the last day and how many tickets are sold and it’s 
all on account of those old White Rats and you say 
what’s the matter! ” Margery had to put it all in 


72 THE YOUNG IDEA 

one breath or indignation would have overcome 
her. 

“ Say, Margery, honest now. I’m awful sorry.” 

When he thought about it, Willie Jones was 
sorry. He did not understand it himself. He had 
not intended thus to impose on Margery. He had 
intended, day after day, to sell tickets, yet, day after 
day he had found himself on that tenement-house 
roof quite as though his legs had carried him thither 
on some volition of their own. With the eyes of a 
disinterested outsider Willie Jones looked at him- 
self and marveled. 

“ Honest, I’m awful sorry,” he repeated. 

“Awful sorry! Huh!” Margery snorted the 
huh and took another long breath. “ And you 
know very well Willie Jones it’s just because I’m a 
girl and you’d never treat a boy that way and I’d 
just show you too I would — ” 

“ See here, Margery, it was real mean o’ me 
and I tell you what: You go in on that one extry 
ticket and if my mother won’t take me I won’t go 
at all. Isn’t that fair? ” 

But this restitution, magnanimous though, it 
sounded, afforded small relief for it took no account 
of the Lovely Pale Green Paper which to Margery’s 
mind had grown far more important than the social, 
pleasant as that function might prove. And even 
now, when it was too late, she felt more positive than 
ever that they could have accomplished what they 
set out to accomplish, that they could have sold as 
many tickets as they wanted to sell if Willie Jones 
had not allowed himself to fall the victim of so low 
a passion. What an appalling chain of consequences 
to follow one poor, little, miserable “ Aw, Rats! ” 


A LITTLE DAUGHTER OF EVE 73 

They were coming to the end of Boulevard Place 
when Willie suddenly exclaimed: “Oh, look at 
Froggie I ” 

On a park bench just ahead of them sat a man 
holding an open newspaper in one hand and in the 
other a leash to which a large French poodle was at- 
tached. He was a stout little man of oldish appear- 
ance and youthful clothes whose nearsighted eyes, 
surrounded by rolls of fat, made his face not unlike 
that of a frog. Both Margery and Willie knew 
him for they had often seen him in church taking 
up the offering with a pomposity of manner which 
made him look more than ever like a gentlemanly 
old bullfrog. 

He had a niece, too, in the Sunday School, an airy 
young lady of Margery’s own age, who, when she 
passed you, tossed up her head as though to say, “ / 
live on Boulevard Place I” Margery was always 
tempted to shout after her, “ Maplewood’s just as 
good as Boulevard Place I ” but as Delphine — Del- 
phine was her name — though undoubtedly harbor- 
ing the sentiment for which Margery gave her 
credit, had never actually voiced it, Margery like- 
wise had never spoken. 

Willie Jones and she knew the French poodle, 
too, for they had often seen him racing up and down 
the Boulevard with Delphine. He was an attract- 
ive, friendly dog who, in spite of his fashionable 
haircut, would stare at you a moment with his black 
face and shiny eye and then suddenly stick out a tip 
of red flannel tongue which was at once a laugh and 
an invitation to romp. He seemed not to realize 
that he lived in an Exclusive, Restricted Community, 
where Chickens and Vegetable Gardens were utterly 


74 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


prohibited, where Dogs and Cats were allowed, and 
Children tolerated — in limited numbers, of course. 
But Delphine realized it and was constantly having 
to check a vulgar tendency he had to fraternize with 
questionable Outsiders. 

“ Come here, Kubelik! ” she had called out in 
sharp, trumpet tones once when Margery was pass- 
ing and Kubelik had given her a tentative sniff. It | 
was not the actual words that Margery minded but 
the insulting inflection of voice which seemed to add, 

“ Gracious! Do you want to catch smallpox or lep- 
rosy or something!” Mentally, Margery had 
made the scathing retort, “ I guess I’m just as clean 
as you are ! ” Actually, of course, all she could do 
was pass on stiffly with head tossed as high as Del- 
phine’s own. 

Delphine was a strict mistress, no doubt, but at 
least she was young and active and not forever want- 
ing to sit still on a bench and read a newspaper. 
So it is to be presumed that Kubelik missed her on 
the occasions when Uncle Froggie took him out for 
his daily airing. This would account for his pres- 
ent melancholy and the absent-minded way in which 
he had wound himself and one of Uncle Froggie’s ; 
legs to the park bench. Just as Margery and Willie 
were passing. Uncle Froggie discovered what had 
happened and, puffing and spluttering like an angry ; 
old turkey, he gobbled out something which ended 
in a word that was unmistakable. It was a Bad 
Word, one which you might expect to hear, say, in 
East Maplewood, or, very rarely, even in Maple- 
wood. But on Boulevard Place! Margery won- 
dered what the airy Delphine would say if she could ^ 
hear how her own uncle swore, 


A LITTLE DAUGHTER OF EVE 


75 


“ That’s it,” Willie Jones remarked, cynically. 
“ That’s the way we do. Say any old thing on 
week days. But, my, ain’t we pious on Sunday when 
we take up the collection.” 

What Uncle Froggie had said was, “ The hell! ” 

Walking on a short distance Margery and Willie 
turned to watch Uncle Froggie’s awkward efforts 
at disentangling himself. He grew redder in the 
face and very short of wind and, just as he finished, 
the leash slipped through his fingers. Kubelik 
promptly trotted off. He did not go fast; he did 
not have to go fast. But he went a steady trot, 
trot, trot, and, when Uncle Froggie shouted after 
him, only gave a shrug to his shoulders and kept on. 
“ Can’t come back just yet,” the shrug said. “ Got 
an engagement down at East Maplewood where 
there are street-cars and horses and wagons and peo- 
ple and plenty of excitement.” 

“Kubelik!” cried Uncle Froggie in a fume of 
helpless rage and anxiety. 

“ Let’s ketch ’im for ’im,” Willie Jones suggested. 
“ Mebbe he’ll give us a cent.” 

Now it’s easy enough to keep ahead of a fussy, 
fat, old gentleman who can’t run any way, but quite 
another matter when a nimble-legged boy and girl 
join the chase. Kubelik, as he saw them in the tail 
of his eye, wheeled sharp about to see what they 
wanted. 

“Be careful, Willie! Don’t run! If you 
frighten him we’ll never catch him. We must coax 
him.” 

Kubelik regarded them seriously a full minute. 
Then his tail gave a little twitch, his tongue a little 
red flicker, and his mouth a short, questioning bark. 


76 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


“Well?” the bark said. “Well, Boy and Girl, 
what’s it to be, friends or foes? ” 

“ Boo! ” Margery cried in answer, throwing her- 
self on hands and knees and making a playful pounce 
in his direction. 

“01” barked Kubelik, delighted, falling into a 
similar position and pouncing back. 

Then Willie Jones turned a pinwheel which 
landed him right on top of Kubelik and Kubelik’s 
heart was completely won. 

“O! O! Ol” he barked. “ This w fun!” 

Margery and Willie agreed with him and there- 
upon, all together, they rolled and romped and 
laughed and barked on the Boulevard Grass which 
had never been treated that way before and resented, 
no doubt, the unaccustomed familiarity. 

“ Kubelik ! ” roared Uncle Froggie when, finally, 
he caught up. 

The three young people — ’twould be an invidious | 
distinction to say two young people and one young 
something else — sat up, shook the hair from their 
eyes, and gazed at Uncle Froggie across the strip 
of outraged Grass. 

“ Come here, sir ! ” 

Kubelik clearly understood who it was that Uncle 
Froggie designated as sir, but he made no movement: 
to obey. He tried, though, to explain, standing up; 
bravely and facing Uncle Froggie. 

“ Sorry,” he said — why he said it just as plain 
as anything, wagging his tail and squirming his back- 
furiously against Willie Jones. “ Sorry, Uncle, ! 
but can’t possibly come just yet. You see these: 
friends of mine — charming people — have invited 


A LITTLE DAUGHTER OF EVE 77 

me to join their frolic and simply won’t take No for 
an answer.” 

Uncle Froggie, acting as though he did not hear, 
turned heavily to Willie Jones. 

“ Do you know whose dog that is, young man? ” 

“ Yes, sir,” Willie Jones answered, politely. 
“ We saw him running away and we thought we’d 
help you ketch him.” 

“ H’m, h’m,” rumbled Uncle Froggie. 

“ Yes, sir, and she says not to run straight at 
him or we’d scare him and never would ketch him 
but to coax him by playing with him. And she was 
right, wasn’t she? ” 

Uncle Froggie changed the subject by remark- 
ing, explosively: 

“ Don’t you know you’re not allowed to walk on 
the Grass? ” 

‘‘Who’s a-walkin’?” Willie Jones inquired, 
blandly. “ Besides,” he added, as though to relieve 
Uncle Froggie’s anxiety, “ they ain’t no cop in sight.” 

Uncle Froggie said “ H’m ” again and, after an- 
other pause, demanded, “What’s your name?” 

“ Jones.” 

“ Jones,” Uncle Froggie repeated, meditatively, 
as though he had heard the name before. “ H’m.” 
He glanced impatiently at the mussed newspaper 
still in his hand and then over to a nice shady bench 
not far away. “ H’m. Jones, you say. Well, 
Jones, would you like to take care of that dog awhile, 
run with him, play with him, give him some lively 
exercise? ” 

“I — I don’t know,” Willie Jones began cau- 
tiously, ‘‘ I don’t know as I got the time, sir.” 


7B 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


“H’m. In a rush, eh? Well, now, if I offered 
you a nickel — ” 

“ Mister,” Willie Jones said, heartily, “ I guess 
niebbe I can accommodate you.” 

Uncle Froggie moved at once toward the shady 
bench. 

“ When I want you,” he called back, “ I’ll wave 
this paper. And Kubelik — that’s his name. If he 
gets away from you just call, ‘ Kubelik 1 ’ and he’ll 
come right back.” 

“A nickel! A nickel! ” Willie Jones kept mur- 
muring as he began a fresh assault on the helpless 
Grass. “Did you hear that? A nickel! And 
say, Margery, I’ll divvy up with you ! Honest, I 
will ! ” 

One forgets how that vexed question. Do Animals 
Think? was finally decided. One hopes, however, 
that occasionally the poor dumb creatures are al- 
lowed to remember for then, without risk of being 
dubbed sentimental, one might intimate that Kubelik 
cherished to extreme old age the recollections of 
this afternoon made memorable by the Glorious [ 
Frolic. I 

“ Why, I never had such a good time in all my ! 
life ! ” he barked again and again. “ This is ) 
simply hully ! ” 

They played catchers, cross-tag, “ Hi ’’-spy, and 
Kubelik distinguished himself in them all. Then I 
Margery was the Lady in Distress, Willie Jones the .1 
Cruel Robber, and Kubelik the Gallant Knight. He 
was a splendid Knight. At the Lady’s anguished i 
cry, “Help, Sir Kubelik! Help! ” he soon under - h 
stood the business of rescue and, leaping from be-® 
hind a bush, would throw himself with reckless valor ’I 


I A LITTLE DAUGHTER OF EVE 79 

I upon the Cowardly Caitiff who then, ’SdeathI didst 
j bite the dust. 

They played Sleeping Beauty and Kubelik, be- 
cause he was so fine at “ Dead dog,’’ was the Prin- 
cess. His interpretation of that classic role whether 
by choice or necessity departed somewhat from tra- 
dition and, instead of a uniform marble stillness, 
exhibited, in the otherwise quiet Princess, a violent 
palpitation of heart and bosom. At the time there 
was some surprise that the Princess was able to keep 
her mouth so tightly shut. As though Beauty ever 
slept with open mouth! 

To Kubelik every game seemed more charming 
than the last and, at the end of each, he begged and 
barked: “Do it again! Please, do it again!” 
And Willie Jones and Margery were almost as en- 
! thusiastic. Margery, moist and panting, forgot her 
heartache and her disappointment and was happy 
once again as in the days before the Prim Young 
Woman had crossed her path and, with her simper- 
ing whine, had been the means of blasting forever 
Margery’s fondest hopes. 

It cannot be said that Willie Jones, likewise, for a 
' few happy moments ceased to contemplate the fail- 
; ure he had made of life, for, to all appearances, he 
: never had been properly unhappy about that. To 
; him, the present, rather, was merely another happy 
I episode in a uniformly happy life. Accustomed to 
I so much happiness, naturally he did not lose his head 
I as the others did but, murmuring every now and 
I then, “Jiminy! Easy money!” “My lucky 
day ! ” and similar expressions, gave evidence plain 
enough that his whole mind was not engrossed with 
the activities of the moment. He enjoyed the frolic. 


8o 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


of course; he enjoyed it very much; but, when Uncle 
Froggie at length waved his newspaper, Willie was 
quite ready to stop. Margery begged, “ Just once 
more ! ” and Kubelik whined, “ Please, Willie, 
please! ” but Willie was firm. “ We must not keep 
Froggie waiting,” he said. 

The leash which they had taken off Kubelik’s col- 
lar they fastened on again, and Willie intrusted it 
to Margery directing her to hand it to Uncle Frog- 
gie. Perhaps if that gentleman’s attention were 
thus forcibly drawn to Margery’s existence, he might 
be induced to provide for her handsomely. Willie 
Jones was not going back on his promise to divvy up, 
you understand, but if Froggie could be worked for a 
second nickel, don’t you see — Anyway, ’twould 
be worth trying. 

“ H’m,” Uncle Froggie remarked, severely, when 
the three stood before him. 

“ Yes, sir,” Willie Jones assented, politely. “ Ku- 
belik didn’t try to run away once. He likes Mar- 
gery so much. Margery, she’s my cousin.” (To 
Margery’s indignation, he always introduced her 
thus to strangers. Was he ashamed to say that 
they were merely backyard neighbors?) “Hon- 
estly, mister, I don’t know as I could ha’ managed 
him without Margery.” 

“ H’m, you don’t, eh? I suppose now she almost 
took entire charge of him, didn’t she?” As he 
spoke the creases of fat around Uncle Froggie’s 
eyes began to crinkle up in the most surprising man- 
ner. 

In his anxiety to advance Margery’s cause, Willie 
Jones promptly answered, “ Yes, sir,” and did not 
realize his mistake until Uncle Froggie said: 


A LITTLE DAUGHTER OF EVE 8i 


“ H’m, then I suppose I ought to pay her the 
nickel instead of you, eh?” 

I For an instant, Willie Jones lost his head. He 
I stared wildly at Uncle Froggie and as he stared he 
' saw Uncle Froggie’s eyelids pull almost shut as by 
j a drawstring. At the same time a convulsive tremor 
began to agitate his stomach. Heavens! Uncle 
Froggie was laughing! No sound came from his 
lips but the merry glint of eyes, seen like a brook 
that twinkles here and there among dun colored 
hills and ridges, and the silent “ Ha ! Ha ! ” of 
his stomach were unmistakable. 

I Is it surprising that, for an instant, Willie Jones 
lost his head ? Who would have expected such dev- 
I ilish cleverness, such keen insight into motives from 
one so pompous, so fat, so old as Uncle Froggie? 
Moreover, to have one’s inmost thoughts read thus 
plainly was embarrassing, horribly embarrassing, 
i But, embarrassment or no embarrassment, a fellow’s 
got to fight for his rights. 

' “ Well, of course,” Willie Jones began, slowly, 

: “ ’tain’t nuthin’ to me whether you give me the 
I nickel you promised me or not. It’s your nickel and 
I I can’t make you give it up. But you promised it 
j to me — that’s all ! ” 

“H’m. Promised, eh?” Uncle Froggie paused 
long enough to wipe away two fat tears that were 
I wetting the ruffles around his eyes. “ I suppose — 
hie ! — suppose I must — keep my word. But if 
Margery did most of the work — hie! hie! — I’m 
afraid I’ll have to give her another nickel! ” 

Willie Jones’s heart gave a great bound of relief, 
then almost stood still. What! Is it possible that 
there are people who even when they know they are 
6 


82 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


being worked allow themselves to be worked and 
take a certain pleasure and amusement in watching 
the process? It was a new thought to Willie Jones 
and one that cried out for further and immediate 
application. So, in his own mind, he had deter- 
mined on the next move while he was yet repeating 
a polite and hearty “ Thank you, sir ! Thank you ! ” 

Uncle Froggie when he had paid his two nickels 
held out his hand for the leash and, quieting his 
stomach and unloosing the drawstring about his 
eyes, prepared to rise. He was ready to nod good- 
by to Kubelik’s late guardians and playmates when 
he perceived from Willie Jones’s manner that that 
young gentleman had something more to say. 

Willie Jones moistened his lips once or twice and, 
finally, the words came. 

“ Want to buy a ticket, sir? ” 

Uncle Froggie did not want to buy a ticket — 
who does? — but, taken unawares, he hesitated a 
moment and was lost. 

“H’m. What’s it for?” 

“ A musical and an ice cream social. Only 
twenty-five cents for both. Here, Margery, show 
the gentleman a ticket.” 

Margery plunged her hand down her neck into 
that curious receptacle with which small girls are 
provided and drew forth three damp and rather dis- 
reputable looking tickets. 

Uncle Froggie adjusted his glasses. “ H’m, h’m. 
Why it’s at our church, ain’t it? I wonder I haven’t 
heard about it before this. To-night, too.” 

“ Yes, sir. And we only got three left, ain’t we, 
Margery? ” 

Oh, the liar! Margery looked at him scornfully. 


A LITTLE DAUGHTER OF EVE 83 

Then it came over her that, true enough, three was 
all they had with them for he — the villain ! — 
hadn’t one about his person and probably hadn’t had 
for days! Oh! 

“ And you know, mister, this is our last chance. 
So we thought as it’s your church, too, and you 
haven’t bought any yet, that mebbe — ” 

“ H’m. Three, you say. You’ve only got three 
left. Well, I guess I can take them. That makes 
seventy-five cents, don’t it? H’m, here you are.” 

“ Thank you, sir. That’s just right. Good-by, 
sir.” 

“H’m. Wait a moment. What’s your name? 
Jones, yes, Jones. Let me see. My little niece 
and the family are away so I only need one ticket. 
You and your little cousin — what’s her name? 
Margery, yes, Margery. If you and Margery can 
use the other two you may have them.” 

It is at moments such as this that early training 
counts. Willie Jones’s mother had struggled long 
and hard to teach him politeness and now, had she 
been present, she would have seen the result. De- 
spite the ringing in his ears, the mist before his eyes, 
and the numbness of his brain, Willie Jones did not 
give way to a primitive instinct which prompted him 
to grab the tickets and yell but, on the contrary, 
held out his hand quietly, steadily, and repeated 
slowly and mechanically the proper formula of 
acceptance : 

“ Thank you, sir. Thank you very much.” 

Margery, utterly demoralized on her own account, 
was hypnotized by his composure and enabled thus 
to murmur a soft, grateful “ Thank you.” 

Then good-byes were exchanged and Margery 


84 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


kissed Kubelik, who for some minutes had been com- ? 
pletely forgotten. ) 

“ It’s just this way, Margery : Sell six tickets 
and you get one for yourself. Sell twelve, you get 
two. Now we’ve sold fourteen tickets, ain’t we? 
That takes in the twelve tickets and the two extries. 
Now those two extries were ours and we had a right 
to use ’em any way we wanted. Miss Georgiana 
said we could sell the extry ticket out o’ the second 
pack; but the extry ticket out o’ the first pack is ours 
just the same and Miss Georgiana would ha’ said 
so if you’d ha’ asked her. So we earned our two 
extry tickets and then, because we didn’t want ’em, 
we sold ’em. Understand? Then along comes a 
friend who makes us a present o’ two tickets which 
we’re goin’ to use to-night for admission. So, fair 
and square, we’ve each got a quarter and each got 
a ticket. Here’s your ticket and here’s your quar- 
ter. You can tie it in your own handkerchief.” 

Margery was glad to have the situation explained 
thus clearly and logically. Calling in the witness 
of Miss Georgiana quieted her last doubt. And, 
truth to tell, she had had but few misgivings at any 
time. Looking back now, it seemed to her that, 
from the moment she had heard Willie Jones say 
“Want to buy a ticket, sir?” she had known i 
vaguely but none the less surely what the outcome , 
would be. At one stroke Willie Jones was going 
to retrieve himself and save the day. And did it not 
always happen so? The Girl might work and 
drudge till doomsday and then, likely enough, fail; 
while the lordly Boy, spending his days playin’ 
hookey, going off swimmin’, or watchin’ white rats. 


A LITTLE DAUGHTER OF EVE 85 

at the last moment could step grandly forth and 
carry off the prize. In school and out of school it 
was the same. Always and everywhere the same. 
And it wasn’t fair, either. It wasn^t fair I But this 
time Margery was willing to gloss over the general 
unfairness of things since Fate, though usually un- 
propitious, was for once allowing her to share the 
prosperity of the favored sex. She was getting in 
on a rain-check, so to speak; but, she was getting in! 

And in this way the Prim Young Woman was at 
last to be foiled! Margery hugged herself at the 
thought. And, after all, the Pink Forget-Me-Nots 
and dear, dear Miss Georgiana I Perhaps that very 
night! Let’s see: Dinner was at six, the social at 
eight. If now, she excused herself before dessert, 
she might have time to slip down to East Maple- 
wood. Of course little candy stores often close at 
six o’clock but even so — 

“ Margery! ” 

— even so she could look in the window and sec — 
“ Margery ! Are you deaf ? ” 

“ Oh — oh — yes. What did you say, Willie? ” 
“ I was just a-sayin’ you know those White Rats, 
don’t you? They’re fifty cents a pair. Now I’ve 
got that quarter and that nickel and if you’d lend 
me twenty cents I’d have enough and you’d still have 
ten cents to spend on anything you want.” 

Margery’s heart sank. The Lovely Pink Forget- 
Me-Nots which were almost within her grasp seemed 
to droop and fade away. 

“Don’t you think I’ll pay you back?” Willie 
asked, aggrieved at her silence. 

It was not that. Margery opened her mouth to 
tell why it was she could not possibly do as he asked. 


86 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


to explain the almost sacred use to which her money 
was pledged, but when she tried to speak it was as 
though, suddenly, she were tonguetied. With a 
pang she realized the weak words at her command 
would sound foolish even to herself. To Willie 
Jones and everyone else but one dear friend the 
Pale Green Paper would be — merely pale green 
paper. He and the rest would see only the gift it- 
self and, catching no hint of what more it would 
mean to her and to Miss Georgiana, would deem it 
superfluous. And by tedious explanation she could 
never make him understand for only those understand 
who know already, and, alas, alas, Willie Jones was 
not of those. 

“ In a couple o’ months they’ll have young ones,” 
Willie insinuated, “ and I’ll be able to pay you 
easy.” 

And she could not reproach him for anything 
past for, in the meeting with Uncle Froggie, he had 
erased old scores and proved himself a true and 
loyal friend. Moreover, even now he was too gener- 
ous to remind her that whatever she had, dime as 
well as twenty cents, was due to him. 

In the end it all came back to the fact, to the 
tragedy that she was a Girl! If she were a Boy, 
without going into details, she could simply say, 
“ No. I want to spend my own money,” and there 
th^ matter would drop. But because she was a 
Girl — What was this monstrous Thing which over- 
shadowed Little Girls, for no reason that was a rea- 
son making them do what they would not and pre- 
venting their doing what they would I It surrounded 
them like a great rough, invisible wall against which 
they were forever stumbling, bruising and hurting 


A LITTLE DAUGHTER OF EVE 87 

themselves. Poor Little Daughters of Eve, was 
there no escape for them? 

Yet, after all who was to blame but herself? 
Even if she did not understand it, she knew the Law, 
that unjust Law which would allow Willie Jones to 
shout “ Rats ! ” a hundred times with impunity but 
had caught her in its cruel clutches for daring to 
breathe it once! Yes, she knew the Law, she had 
always known it even when she had flaunted it. So 
had she not better take her medicine like a man and 
be done? 

The Prim Young Woman, whose ghost for one 
short moment had been laid, appeared again and, un- 
der her severe glance, Margery slowly untied the 
corner of her handkerchief. 

“Thanks awfully, Margery! You’re a dandy! 
And say, listen. Mebbe I’ll have time to run down 
right after dinner. Do you want to come with me 
and carry one o’ them home? ” 

But Margery did not feel it would be any comfort 
to her soul to carry home a White Rat. No. 
There was an unfrequented corner in the stable 
loft where she wished to retire for a season. She 
would, no doubt, have a beautiful time at the social 
— even in this vale of tears ice cream is ice cream ; 
Willie Jones might some day — some far distant 
day — have wealth enough to pay his just debts ; 
a dime, though nothing to a quarter, has a certain 
luster of its own; but these and all other pleasant 
considerations were for the future. For the pres- 
ent there was room in her brain for one thought 
only, one that made her eyes smart and her lips 
quiver: The Pale Green Note Paper was lost and 
Miss Georgiana would never know. 






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IV 


A CASE OF FITS 

/ like little pussy, her coat is so warm 

And if I don* t hurt her, she*ll do me no harm. 

— Taylor 

And the cat of our next door neighbor 
Came to visit us, too; 

We gave our best bows and courtseys 
With compliments fine and new. 

As to her health we asked her, 

With friendly and earnest air; 

Many old cats have we since asked 
The like with a deep like care. 

— Heine 


IN WHICH MARGERY AND WILLIE FOLLOW THE 
PROMPTINGS OF THE ARTISTIC TEMPERAMENT 


had my way,” Aunt Allie began, emphatic- 
I ally, “ not a child should be allowed an ani- 
A mal for a pet. All they do is torture them. 
It’s an outrage ! ” 

“ Is that so? ” the Blair father murmured, his at- 
tention divided between breakfast and a letter that 
had just come in. “ What’s the matter now, 
Allie?” 


91 


92 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


“ It’s Margery, of course. You’d know what it 
was if you would only listen to me. That unfor- 
tunate little cat! If Margery were a baby, I could 
excuse her. But a great big girl eight years old! 
I told you how she nearly choked it dressing it up 
in doll’s clothes. I told you how she nearly cut its 
leg off trimming its hair. I told you how she nearly 
drowned it washing it in soap and water. And yes- 
terday — yesterday — ” Aunt Allie shut her lips 
and elevated her chin as though yesterday’s conduct 
were too scandalous for words. 

“You know very well, Nesbit,” she continued, 
opening the attack, as it were, from another quarter, 
“ I would do anything in the world for poor Kate. 
If my coming, here and taking care of the children 
will give her a rest, I’m willing to come. Before 
her marriage I saved her in every way. She never 
had anything to interfere with her music and read- 
ing. And now — now — what with the worry of 
housekeeping and bringing up four children, no won- 
der she’s on the verge of breaking down.” 

“ From this letter,” the Blair father remarked, 
dryly, “ she seems to be feeling pretty well again. 
Last week she went to three bridge parties and four 
musicales.” 

“ It isn’t the twins,” Aunt Allie went on, ignoring 
her brother-in-law’s insinuation. “ They’re quiet, 
well-behaved girls. And Henry’s a good boy, 
usually.” 

Margery looked at her brother and sisters sav- 
agely. Katherine and Alice were eating their break- 
fast as though unconscious of the discussion of their 
elders. They reminded Margery of white rabbits, 
the way they munched, munched, munched, with 


A CASE OF FITS 


93 


blank, expressionless faces. Henry was a little bet- 
ter, for the intentness with which he was regarding 
his oatmeal showed that at least he knew something 
was happening. 

“ But Margery, Nesbit — Margery! And who’s 
that nasty little boy she plays with? That Jones 
boy — yes, Willie Jones.” 

“ Do you think this a good time to deal in per- 
sonalities? ” the Blair father ventured. 

“ As good as any, Nesbit. Besides, I never can 
get you in the evening. You always slip away. If 
I had any authority — which of course I haven’t I — 
I should not allow that Jones boy inside the yard. 
Just wait till I tell you the cruel — ” 

“ It seems to me a trifle odd,” the Blair father 
interrupted, ‘‘ that a nature like yours, which sympa- 
thizes so keenly with all the rest of the animal crea- 
tion, should so little understand the workings of the 
young human.” 

The four young humans at the table instantly 
pricked up their ears. When a grown-up uses unin- 
telligible phraseology like that, depend upon it he’s 
trying to talk over your head. What he says, there- 
fore, deserves attention. So the Blair father’s mean- 
ing, if not his words, was very generally understood 
by the time he concluded : 

“ Believe me, Allie, they repay a little kindness 
far more than the most responsive dog or cat you’ve 
ever had.” 

“ Cat, yes. It’s just about that poor little cat I’m 
trying to tell you.” 

The Blair father, seeing his sister-in-law deter- 
mined to speak, said no more. 

“ Yesterday morning Margery rushed in and, in 


94 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


the greatest excitement, dragged me out to see — 
what do you suppose? That unfortunate little cat 
in a fit! She and that Jones boy were dancing 
about, clapping their hands and shouting. In good 
faith the little Jones villain confided to me, ‘ Gee 
whiz! it’s the best fit Pinkie’s ever throwed.’ Such 
grammar, too! And think of their glorying in the 
poor little creature’s fits ! ” 

The Blair father seemed to be thinking, but only 
of his eggs. Undiscouraged, Aunt Allie went on : 

“ It seems that he has some young white rats, and 
he and Margery were amusing themselves dangling 
one of them by the tail in front of the cat’s nose. 
Imagine the feelings of that poor little white rat! 
Oh, what wretches children are ! They got the cat 
so excited that, finally, they had him walking round 
on his hind legs with his mouth open. Then the lit- 
tle Jones villain began dropping the rat a little way 
into the cat’s mouth and pulling it back. One time 
he was not quick enough. The cat gave a jump 
and a gulp and the rat was gone — swallowed whole 
and alive! Ugh! It makes me shudder to think 
of it! A fit followed, of course! I got there be- 
fore it was over, and the little Jones villain had the 
impudence to ask me if I didn’t think the show was 
worth a white rat! If I had had my way I 
shouldn’t have been long in giving them both a sound 
whipping — one that they would have remembered 
for many a day.” 

“Did you try to explain to them?” the Blair 
father asked. 

“Explain to them? I should have liked to ex- 
plain with the aid of a good stout ruler! They’d 
have understood that.” 


A CASE OF FITS 


95 


Margery, her breakfast untouched, had been star- 
ing at her aunt with hot, angry eyes. She spoke 
now in a tone of measured fury not pleasant to hear 
in a small girl : 

“ Aunt Allie — I — hate — you ! ” 

Startled by the vehemence of the attack and in- 
sulted anew. Aunt Allie appealed to her brother-in- 
law with a tight lip and a cold eye which challenged 
him on his peril, as a father and a disciplinarian, 
to allow this fresh outbreak of savagery to pass un- 
reproved. But, as she might have known, his first 
words were directed against herself. 

“ Your untimely arraignment,” he said, speaking 
rapidly and in the adult vocabulary, “ has provoked 
the retort. On the part of the culprit it is an evi- 
dence not of incorrigibility but of candor and fear- 
lessness.” 

Then he looked at his youngest daughter sternly. 
‘‘ Margery, you must not speak that way to your 
aunt. Apologize at once.” 

“ But it’s true. Father. I do hate her — she’s so 
mean.” 

“Apologize at once! Do you hear me?” 

“ But, Daddy, it’s true. You don’t want me to 
tell a lie?” 

Then the Blair father became oracular, as a man 
sometimes must in the bosom of his family : 

“ Listen, Margery: Little girls and other people 
as well cannot always be responsible for their feel- 
ings, but they are and they must be responsible for 
their actions. Perhaps you cannot help thinking 
things which you should not think, but you can help 
saying them. Do you understand me? So now, 
once for all, whatever you think about your aunt you 


96 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


must treat her with respect always, because she is 
your aunt. And she’s a kind aunt, too,” he con- 
tinued, hoping to add sentiment to reason. “ Don’t 
you remember how good she was to you when you 
were sick? ” 

“ Yes, Daddy; but she’s horrible to me when I’m 
well.” 

‘‘ And don’t you remember how good she is to 
Mother when Mother’s sick? ” 

“ Yes, Daddy, but—” 

“ No more buts, Margery. Tell Aunt Allie 
you’re sorry for what you said, and that you won’t 
say such a thing again.” 

The apology, as satisfactory as apologies usually 
are, brought the discussion to a close, and breakfast 
ended in silence. The Blair father left for town, 
and Henry and the twins, ready for school, bade 
their aunt good-by with that air of sanctimonious 
propriety which the neutrals in any conflict instinct- 
ively assume. If they regarded Margery with just a 
shade of distant coldness it was because they realized 
that, for all practical purposes, hers was the losing 
side. Would it not be folly for unprejudiced neu- 
trals to show sympathy for the losing side? 

There were still a few days of school for Henry 
and the twins, but Margery’s grade had been dis- 
missed for the long vacation two days before. So 
Margery was left alone with her aunt. She stole 
out of the house as soon as she could and, with her 
kitten in her arms, climbed the old cherry tree in 
the back yard and settled herself comfortably in 
the little hut which she and Willie Jones had built 
in a high crotch. There Aunt Allie spied her — the 
very embodiment of a dear, gentle little girl whoii 


A CASE OF FITS 


97 


could not possibly get into mischief for several hours 
at least. Aunt Allie looked at the clear sky, sniffed 
the fresh morning air, and wondered if she herself, 
unnoticed, might not slip off into the woods. Aunt 
Allie loved the outdoors, and this morning there was 
nothing to keep her in but the responsibility of Mar- 
gery. Efiie was sweeping upstairs and would be 
busy all the forenoon, and the older children would 
not be home before twelve. Aunt Allie took one 
more glance at Margery, who, crooning softly to her 
kitten, looked safer than ever, and then, accepting 
the invitation of sky and air, went quietly out the 
front gate and away. 

Timing its arrival nicely with Aunt Allie’s de- 
parture, Willie Jones’s head popped over the back 
fence and gave out a shrill, “ Hoo-hoo ! ” which was 
answered in kind from the cherry tree. 

“ Where’s your Aunt Allie, Margery? ” 

“Why?” 

“ I got a note for her. My mother’s gone to 
town, and I’m going to stay to your house for lunch.” 

“ Aunt Allie’s in the house,” Margery said. But, 
as there was plenty of time to deliver the note, 
Willie Jones did not at once move toward the house. 
Instead, thrusting the envelope into his pocket, he 
climbed the cherry tree. 

“ Huh! ” he began, at sight of Margery’s kitten. 
“ I thought she said Pinkie was going to be sick 
after that fit! Much she knows about it! Just 
listen to him ! ” 

If volume of purring be any indication of health 
in a young cat, then Pinkie’s constitution had not 
yet been seriously impaired. He was rumbling like 
a small engine, with a churning, muffled roar that 
7 


98 THE YOUNG IDEA 

sent faint, ticklish vibrations through Margery’s 
body. 

“ Just listen to him ! ” repeated Willie Jones. 
“ What’d your Aunt Allie say if she could hear him 
now? Aw, rats! She needn’t think she can fool 
us, ’cause she can’t! Say, Margery, you know 
Butch?” 

Of course Margery knew Butch. Butch was the 
fat grocery boy who drove the wagon and who, if 
you didn’t call him names, would sometimes give you 
a ride. 

“ Well, I was tellin’ Butch about Pinkie’s fit yes- 
terday, and he says ’tain’t nuthin’ at all. Kittens 
always have fits. And he says the easiest way is to 
give ’em a hunk o’ raw meat. I don’t want to 
waste any more white rats, so I thought if you 
wanted to play circus this morning before Henry 
and the rest o’ them come home — ” 

But the suggestion did not please Margery. 
“ No,” she said, firmly. “ I’m afraid it will hurt 
Pinkie.” 

“ Hurt nuthin’ ! Don’t you suppose Butch 
knows? They’ve got lots o’ cats down there at the 
grocery.” 

“ Besides, Willie, you know how mad Aunt Allie 
would be.” 

“Aunt Allie nuthin’! How’s she goin’ a-know? 
She wouldn’t ha’ known yesterday if we hadn’t told 
her. Aunt Allie makes me tired, she does, the way 
she butts in.” 

Now Margery enjoyed a circus as much as any- 
one, and, if it were not for the unpleasantness which 
Aunt Allie was likely to stir up, she would be tempted 
to consent. 


A CASE OF FITS 


99 


Are you sure Butch said it would be all right? ” 

“ Course Fm sure. Didn’t I ask him if fits hurt 
’em, and didn’t he say, ‘ Naw. Don’t all cats have 
’em just like kids have measles? ’ ” 

“ But measles hurt,” Margery objected, remem- 
bering her own experience. 

“Yes, but you got to have ’em, don’t you see? 
Why, I heard my mother say to Gra’ma once, ‘ I 
wisht Willie’d hurry and ketch the measles so’s to 
be over with ’em.’ So if Pinkie’s got to have fits 
anyhow, we might just as well have the fun of seeing 
them.” 

There was something in that, and at last Mar- 
gery went so far as to say that if she were only sure 
Aunt Allie would not find out — 

“ Go in the house and see what’s she doing,” 
Willie suggested. “ I’ll hold Pinkie.” 

Margery went and soon returned with the news 
that Aunt Allie was not there. 

“ Then probably she’s gone to town,” was Willie’s 
hopeful surmise. “ Let’s hurry and have our fun 
before she gets back.” 

In the ice-chest they found a large piece of lean 
beef from which it was a pleasure to hack off two 
nice juicy hunks. 

“ You mustn’t feed ’em to Pinkie, Butch says,” 
admonished Willie, when they were once more under 
the cherry tree ready to open the circus. “ You 
must get him real excited and then let him swallow 
’em whole.” 

So the white-rat tactics of the day before were 
followed. Again and again the hunks were lowered 
temptingly close to Pinkie’s pink nose and as often 
snatched away, until Pinkie was quivering with 


100 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


aroused ferocity, working his whiskers and swishing 
his tail like a young tiger, sending forth growls and 
roars that were delightful to hear and also a little 
fearsome. At the proper moment he was allowed 
to capture the hunks, which he swallowed in a man- 
ner that could not have failed to win the approval 
even of Butch. So ended the first act. 

In the short intermission that followed. Pinkie, in 
the dejection usual after great exhilaration, essayed 
a languid toilet, and Margery took a peep through 
the house to make sure that Aunt Allie had not yet 
returned. 

The second act opened with a brilliant high jump 
and a blood-curdling yowl, which gave unmistakable 
notice that the fit was on. It was quicker in coming 
than the white-rat fit and more exciting while it 
lasted. Backward and forward leaps, double somer- 
saults, looping-the-loops, hardly describe the won- 
derful gyrations with which Pinkie entertained them. 
Up the cherry tree he went like a flash, down he 
fell with a thud, and then whirled round and round 
and over and over until Margery cried out in fright 
and alarm: “Oh, Pinkie, Pinkie, be careful I 
You’ll hurt yourself! ” 

But Pinkie was not to hurt himself much longer. 
There was one last convulsion that tossed the little 
creature high up in the air, and then the performance 
was over. 

When Margery reached the small, quivering body 
she found the eyes open and staring and the pretty 
kitten mouth twisted into a snarl. 

“ He’s hurt 1 I’m sure he’s hurt 1 Poor Pinkie, 
poor Pinkie 1 I don’t care what Butch says, I won’t 
let him have a fit again I ” 


A CASE OF FITS 


lOI 


She picked him up tenderly and, as she did so, 
the little head rolled limply back. The body was 
still now except for an occasional twitch, and Mar- 
gery, with a new terror, seeing that the eyes con- 
tinued their sightless stare and the mouth its breath- 
less snarl, felt suddenly weak and sick. 

“ Willie ! ” she gasped. “ I believe — I believe 
he’s — he’s dead! ” 

She knew death as most children know it — on 
hearsay, as a common enough occurrence, but one 
which does not touch them personally. She had 
seen a few dead animals and had known that they 
were dead. But this was different. How could it 
be possible that this limp, irresponsive mass was her 
own little Pinkie, who but a few moments before 
had been full of life and vigor? In a few moments 
more he would waken and frisk again, she declared 
to herself. But despite her vehement insistence, a 
dull something told her that he never would. 

“And it was the fit that killed him! I know it 
was! O dear — O dear — O dear!” she sobbed, 
in a transport of grief. 

Willie Jones, poking a cautious finger here and 
there into Pinkie’s soft fur, could offer no word of 
hope. But he did what he could to comfort. 

“ Aw, now, Margery, you needn’t feel so bad. 
Butch says, he says — ” Willie racked his brains to 
think of something appropriate for Butch to say. 
“ Butch says, he says — why, he says when fits kill 
kittens, why, he says they’d die anyhow! It means 
they ain’t strong to begin with, you know.” 

“Are you sure Butch says that?” Margery 
quavered. 

“ Of course Pm sure,” Willie declared, stoutly. 


102 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


“ Butch says if they’re weak and sick they’re going 
to die anyhow, and they might as well go in a fit 
as any other way. You just can’t save ’em.” 

“ But Pinkie didn’t act weak or sick.” 

“ That’s just it! He didn’t act that way, but he j 
must ha’ been or he wouldn’t ha’ died, don’t you , 
see? That proves it! ” ' 

“ Do you really think so? ” ' 

“ Sure. But see here, Margery, hadn’t we bet- ;j 
ter bury him before Aunt Allie gets back?” ij 

Willie was right. They had better bury him be- I 
fore Aunt Allie got back. Margery roused herself I 
from her grief to make ready for the funeral. 

The preparations were simple. They made a , 
pretty casket by lining a shoe box with pink tissue 
paper. (“ Pink always was Pinkie’s color,” Mar- 
gery sniffled.) Then, while they were selecting a 
site for the grave, Margery thought of a new detail. 

“ Before we bury him, I think we ought to put 
some crape on the door, don’t you ? They always 
do for real people.” 

Willie agreed enthusiastically. Pinkie was a nice I 
kitten, as nice as anyone. He deserved crape. 
Willie was doubtful on only one score : What if , 
Aunt Allie — , 

“ Well, we’ll just have to watch, and, when we 
see her coming, snatch it off.” 

That settled, they deposited the casket, tempo- 
rarily, in the stable and went into the house to hunt 
some crape. Now, because the zest of life was 
fast returning, it would be unfair to say that Mar- 
gery had already forgotten her grief. It is true 
she set about the search for crape with spirit and 
energy, and the search, merely as such, brought 


A CASE OF FITS 


103 


back the sparkle to her eye and the laugh to her 
lip. But this is only as it should be. Her grief 
over Pinkie was genuine, yet, after all. Pinkies are 
not the whole of the game of life, and there is no way 
to find this out so quickly as by busying oneself with 
another part of the game — hunting crape, for in- 
stance. Call such busyness work, and, lo, a whole 
philosophy of life in a nutshell ; for, depend upon it, 
work is as surely a small girl’s salvation as it is a 
man’s. 

“Oh, I know! ” Margery cried, with sudden in- 
spiration. “ Aunt Allie’s long motor veil would 
make dandy crape 1 ” 

They found it in Aunt Allie’s room. On a work 
table in the same place there was a straw hat which 
Aunt Allie was trimming for a garden party. It 
was to have lavender strings, one of which, Mar- 
gery saw at once, would be just the thing with which 
to tie the crape. So they borrowed it also. 

They draped the veil and the lavender net over 
the front door-bell, soiling both as little as possible, 
and then stood off to see the effect. It was simply 
lovely. 

“ That’s what I call dead swell,” Willie Jones 
said, heartily. “ But hadn’t we better put some 
flowers on, too? ” 

Flowers, Margery realized immediately, would be 
a crowning touch. So they picked a bunch of gera- 
niums, red and pink, and stuck as many as they could 
around the knob of the door-bell. 

“ And now let’s sit down under the syringa bush 
near the gate and see what happens,” Willie sug- 
gested. “ And if anybody says anything to you, 
you’ve got to cry like the dickens. Don’t forget.” 


104 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


The first passer-by was a fat woman with a heavy 
market basket. Just in front of the gate she put 
down her basket for a moment’s rest. 

“ Boo-hoo at her,” Willie Jones whispered with a 
nudge. 

“Boo-hoo!” roared Margery, just as the fat 
woman caught sight of the crape on the door. 

“ Sakes alive I ” said the fat woman. “ Who’s 
dead now? ” 

“ Pinkie I ” sobbed Margery. 

“ Pinkie 1 ” the fat woman repeated, looking more | 
astonished than ever. “Who’s Pinkie?” : 

Margery, boo-hooing away, paid no heed to this 
poser, so Willie Jones had to meet it as best he 
could. 

“ Pinkie! ” said Willie Jones. “ Why, don’t you 
know who Pinkie was ? I thought everybody 
knowed Pinkie ! Why Pinkie — Pinkie was — I 
mean — yes — you see — Pinkie,” he declared 
finally, “ why. Pinkie was her little sister! ” 

“You poor little thing!” the fat woman said, 
with ready sympathy. “ And you loved your little 
sister, didn’t you ? Now ain’t that just too touchin’ ? 
But, say, little boy, she hadn’t ought to be out in 
front to-day. ’Tain’t proper. You keep her playin’ 
in the back yard. That’s a good boy. And here,” 
she said, picking out of her basket two nice bananas 
and handing them over the fence, “ here’s something 
that’ll comfort her.” 

“ Thank you, ma’am,” said Willie Jones, politely. 

Then he led Margery toward the back yard, 
where they remained until the fat woman had passed 
on. 

“ I wish,” remarked Willie, complacently, as. 


A CASE OF FITS 


105 


I once more settled under the syringa bush, they fin- 
' ished their bananas, “ I wish someone else would 
come home from market. That was great.” 

“ But what’ll you say if it’s somebody that knows 
us? ” 

Willie wagged his head confidently. “ Don’t you 
worry. I’ll fix that all right.” 

The next person was Butch, who came by driving 
the grocery wagon. 

“ O gee ! ” he exclaimed, checking his horse at 
sight of the crape. “Who’s dead a’ready?” 

As he received no immediate answer, he tried 
again. “ Is it Mis’ Blair? ” 

Margery shook her head and nudged Willie to 
speak. As she had foreseen. Pinkie could not again 
be used, and Willie realized that he would have to 
sacrifice one of the family. His hesitation was not 
over the deed itself, merely over the selection of a 
victim. 

“What’s the matter with you kids? Can’t you 
talk? Who’s dead a’ready?” 

“ Margery’s Aunt Allie,” Willie replied with the 
greatest dignity. 

“ Oh, Willie ! ” Margery gasped. 

“ Boo-hoo,” Willie whispered. 

“ Boo-hoo ! ” Margery wailed, obediently. 
“ Aunt Allie I Poor Aunt Allie I ” 

“Why, you don’t say so!” Butch exclaimed in 
candid surprise. “ I thought I seen her this morn- 
ing.” 

“ ’Spect you did. She died very sudden.” 

“You don’t say so!” Butch exclaimed again. 
“ What did she die of? ” 

“ Fits,” said Willie Jones, primly. 


io6 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


“ Fits! ” repeated Butch. “ You don’t say so! ” 

“ Say, Butch.” 

“Well?” 

“ Give us a ride? ” 

“ Sure.” 

So Willie and Margery climbed into the grocery 
wagon and accompanied Butch on a short round of 
deliveries. Butch asked further details until he was 
able to tell a connected story in the various kitchens 
where he stopped. 

The servants, and sometimes members of the fam- 
ily, came out to question Willie and Margery, who 
had the pleasure that morning of furnishing a quiet 
neighborhood a startling sensation. Margery expe- 
rienced a growing apprehension, and would have 
checked the free flowering of Willie’s fancy. But 
he was irrepressible, and she had, perforce, to give 
tearful assent to each new adaptation and to boo-hoo 
at frequent intervals. 

“Why, I never heard of such a thing! ” Gladys 
Bailey’s mother declared, as, in kimono and bed- 
room slippers, she hurried out to the street. “ A 
fit?” 

“ Yes, ma’am,” said Willie Jones, firmly. 

“What did it come from? Did the doctor 
say? ” 

“ From eating raw meat, the doctor says.” 

“ Eating raw meat! Why, I never heard of such 
a thing! Did your aunt eat raw meat, Margery? ” 

“ Boo-hoo! ” wailed Margery. 

“ Of course she did,” Willie Jones answered. 
“ She used to eat it right down in hunks without 
chewin’ it. Butch used to bring her raw meat every 
day, didn’t you, Butch? ” 


A CASE OF FITS 


107 

Butch, who, by this time, was beginning to think 
that he himself had witnessed the fit, gave ready as- 
sent. “ Sure I did. Mis’ Bailey. Why, just this 
morning on my first trip I took her a big piece of 
lean beef. ‘ Be sure it’s lean,’ she says to me. 
‘ I’m particular about havin’ it lean.’ ” 

“Why, I never heard of such a thing!” the 
Bailey mother again informed them. “ And did you 
see the fit, Willie?” 

“ Yes, ma’am. It was awful. She just dug her 
fingers and her toes into the cherry tree and 
scooted — ” 

“ Her toes ? Why, I never heard of such a thing 1 
Was she barefoot? ” 

“ No — yes — no — I mean not exactly barefoot. 
She wasn’t barefoot — at first, I mean. But she 
jumped around so, you know, her shoes and stockin’s 
come off.” 

“ Came off ! Why, I never heard of such a thing 1 
I suppose I ought to go right over and see if I can 
be of any help.” 

Willie Jones earnestly assured her that this was 
unnecessary. “ Everything’s been done, ain’t it, 
Margery? All the neighbors rushed in and fixed 
up everything. She’s all ready to be buried this 
afternoon.” 

“ Buried this afternoon I Why, I never heard of 
such a thing 1 Are you sure ? ” 

“Of course I am. Ain’t the coffin all ready? 
It’s a white one with pink lining, ain’t it. Butch? ” 

Butch swore it was white with pink lining and 
that he had seen it with his own eyes as, no doubt, 
he supposed he had. The Bailey mother again de- 
clared she had never heard of such a thing and would 


io8 THE YOUNG IDEA 

have questioned on had not Butch driven off, sud- 
denly remembering that, fits or no fits, people had to 
have lunch on time. 

It was the same elsewhere. On all sides their 
story was received with similar ohs and ahs of cred- 
ulous astonishment. The power of holding an 
audience, which a veteran labors years to acquire, 
Willie Jones seemed to possess by instinct. He did 
not appear anxious to talk, but, when questioned, an- 
swered quietly, directly, and with the open candor 
of a child too young to realize the horrors he has 
witnessed. Mrs. Newton almost went into hyster- 
ics at the vividness of his description. 

“ And when we got to her, her body was all 
twisted up and her hair was all mussed and her lips 
was pulled back real tight so’s you could see all her 
teeth, like this.” 

“Good gracious I” screamed Mrs. Newton. 
“How awful I” 

“ Yes, ma’am,” Willie Jones assented. “ And 
when they lifted her up, her head rolled back this 
way and her eyes — ” 

“Good gracious! How awful!” Mrs. Newton 
again screamed. 

Willie soon found that his strength lay in a simple 
relation of facts. So long as he clung to facts he 
was all right. It was only with fancy touches like 
the shoes and stockings that he had trouble. And 
with a little judgment it was easy enough to make 
the proper selection of facts. The wonder was what 
an astonishing effect was produced by the mere sub- 
stitution of one leading character for another. 
Here, ladies and gentlemen, are the facts of the case 
as plain and unexciting as an old black hat; and 


A CASE OF FITS 


109 


here, at one magic word, arc rabbits and roses and 
goldfish hopping about in charming profusion. It 
was a delightful performance, delightful and at the 
same time so convincing that Margery herself began 
to be in some doubt as to just who had actually had 
the fit. 

But after Butch had made his last delivery and, 
on his way back, had deposited them in front of 
Willie Jones’s house, all such delusions, however 
pleasing and desirable, vanished away, and reality, 
wearing a stern and threatening front, tapped them 
sharply on the shoulder. Margery looked appre- 
hensively at her companion. 

“ O-oh ! But I bet she gives us fits now ! ” 

“ Aw, rats ! What can she do to us? ” 

Willie’s words were brave, but not to be taken ex- 
actly on their face value, for he added immediately: 

“ But mebbe we had better cut out lunch. Let’s 
sneak into the house and get something to eat and 
then skip out to the woods.” 

They climbed the Blair fence, reconnoitered the 
kitchen, and, when they were sure that no one was 
yet about, slipped in. By searching the pantry dili- 
gently they found some crackers and milk. The 
crackers were few, but the milk was plentiful. 
After that they ate some sliced cucumbers which 
Effie had soaking in water. They had just finished 
the cucumbers when Effie, coming down-stairs to get 
lunch, broke in upon them. She lost her temper, 
of course, and a violent argument ensued. It waxed 
so loud that none of them heard Aunt Allie until she 
stood before them. 

“Oh, Miss Allie, what do you think? Them 
children have gone and et up all — ” 


I 10 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


Effie paused, realizing by this time that Aunt Allie 
herself had something to tell. She was holding 
some ferns and wild flowers in one hand and in the 
other a tangled, knotted mass of white and lavender. 
At first she only looked at her niece and that young 
woman’s* companion quietly, calmly — one might say 
too quietly, too calmly. It is such a calm that pre- 
cedes a tornado. Her victims, caught in the pantry 
like rats in a trap, made one weak, hopeless attempt 
to dash by Effie and, failing in that, slunk back a 
step and awaited the approach of judgment with sul- 
len, indifferent faces. 

“ Ho! ” Aunt Allie cried, at last, with a great ex- 
plosion of breath, tossing upon the kitchen table the 
veil and the wild flowers. “ How dare you little 
villains touch my belongings I ” 

Heavens! Was that all? The culprits ex- 
changed a glance of astonishment and relief. 

“ I can’t turn my back that you aren’t in some new 
mischief! I’ve stood much, but I won’t stand this! 
Listen to me. Miss Margery: To-night if your 
father does not give you the spanking you deserve, 
I willT 

To-night? What spandy-dandy luck! Why, to- 
night was hours and hours and hours away! Lots 
of things might happen before then ! 

“ In the meantime, bed is the safest place for you. 
Effie, put Margery to bed. I’ll attend to Master 
Jones. Come, sir, we’ll see what your mother says 
about it.” 

“ My mother ain’t home,” Master Jones protested 
very politely. “ She’s gone to town. I was to eat 
lunch here. My mother wrote you a note about it, 


A CASE OF FITS iii 

and if you leave go one of my arms a minute I’ll 
give it to you.” 

Carefully clutching him elsewhere, Aunt Allie 
gave him the freedom of one arm. Willie pulled 
forth the note, and Aunt Allie, opening it with one 
hand, read aloud: 

My dear Miss Gibbs: 

“ May I impose upon you to the extent of asking you to keep 
Willie to lunch? I am suddenly called to town and will not be 
back until afternoon. 

“ I trust he will give you no trouble. If he does, punish him 
in any way you see fit. . . .” 

“ ‘ Punish him,’ ” repeated Aunt Allie, “ ‘ in any 
way you see fit.’ Do you hear that, my young gen- 
tleman? Well, I’ll give you exactly what Mar- 
gery’s getting, and I shall ask your mother to give 
you what she’s going to get later. Effie, put Mar- 
gery in her mother’s room. I’ll put Master Jones 
in her room.” 

“ Gee! But ain’t we gettin’ off easy? ” 

This was the unmistakable meaning of Willie’s 
look to his confederate. But that criminal knew 
too well the temper of the law not to hide her com- 
placency in howls and struggles which promptly de- 
ceived her captors into the delusion that here was an 
instance where the punishment fitted the crime to a 
nicety. Willie Jones, by his ill-judged though more 
honest composure, as promptly labeled himself a 
hardened little reprobate. 

Aunt Allie locked him in Margery’s room with 
the significant warning that, if he kicked the doors, 
she would not wait for his mother’s return. From 
the expression of her mouth, he rather thought that 


I 12 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


she hoped he would kick the doors. Margery, amid 
most doleful outcries, was quickly undressed and 
put to bed. It was not deemed necessary to lock her 
in, so she w’as able to slip out to the hall and, hang- 
ing over the banisters to hear something of the ex- 
citement which shortly ensued down-stairs. 

The twins brought home the first news of the I 
morning’s sensation. They came running into the j 
house, calling, “ Aunt Allie ! Aunt Allie ! ” and the j 
moment they caught sight of that lady: “ Oh, Aunt | 
Allie I What do you think? We met Butch at the 
corner, and he says — ” Their voices dropped some- 
what, and Margery, knowing without being told 
some of the things that Butch would say, pattered , 
back to her mother’s room and tapped lightly on the | 
connecting door of Willie’s temporary prison. 

“Sst! Willie!” she hissed through the keyhole. , 
“The twins know all about it! They just saw ! 
Butch down at the corner! Oh! but I bet Aunt 
Allie’s mad! ” 

“ Let her be mad. I don’t care. She dassn’t do 
nuthin’ to me.” 

“ But, Willie, don’t you understand? She won’t 
come up no matter how much she wants to, ’cause 
she has punished us once. She thinks she’s punishin’ 
us now! Oh, but we’re lucky! If the twins had 
come in before she put us to bed, then — ” And 
Margery’s broken off then expressed such dire pos- 
sibilities that she herself shuddered. 

A violent ring at the door-bell hurried her out to 
the banisters again. 

“ It’s Gladys Bailey’s mother,” she squeaked 
through the keyhole a few seconds later. “ And | 
she’s so surprised! She says she never heard of i' 


A CASE OF FITS 


113 

such a thing I Oh, I wish they hadn’t shut the 
library door so quick.” 

The Bailey mother was merely the first of a 
number of callers that noon hour who kept Margery 
on a constant scamper between banister and keyhole. 
It was as though Aunt Allie were holding a recep- 
tion, a rather boisterous one, too, for everyone 
seemed to be talking and shouting at once. Each 
new arrival added fresh excitement until Margery 
was almost scandalized that the neighborhood ladies 
should make such a racket. It didn’t seem alto- 
gether ladylike. The muffled roar and the occa- 
sional exclamations that ascended through walls and 
floors were bad enough, but every time the library 
door opened it was just awful. No matter what 
you say, they were all talking at once, and not in 
that low voice, either, which you are taught to be- 
lieve is the mark of every true lady. They were 
simply shriekin’ and hollerin’ — that’s what they 
were : 

“ And he told it with a face just as straight — ” 

“ And there she sat crying and crying, and when 
I said—” 

“ And every detail of the funeral, too ! Good 
gracious ! How — ” 

“ And they bamfoozled that lout of a grocery 
boy until he swore — ” 

“ I could simply see your writhings, the way they 
described them. Your lips drawn — ” 

And then fat little Mrs. Berry began to laugh, 
and she laughed and laughed as though unable to 
stop. But no one joined her. By this time they 
were all ready to go and were leaving together like 
the members of a euchre club. 

8 


1 14 THE YOUNG IDEA 

‘‘ O dear ! O dear I O dear! shrieked little 
Mrs. Berry, leaning against the front door for sup- 
port. “ I never knew of anything so funny! ” 

“ Funny! ” snorted one of her friends in amaze- 
ment. 

“To think,” Mrs. Berry continued, when she 
caught another breath, “ of two small children , 
throwing a whole neighborhood Into such an up- 
roar! I was baking cakes myself and I got so ex- 
cited that I let them burn to a crisp.! O dear! O 
dear! O dear/ 

“ Em glad you think It so amusing,” Aunt Allle 
remarked. Icily, voicing, it was evident, the prevail- 
ing sentiment. 

“ Amusing, Miss Gibbs? Why, I think it scream- 
ingly funny! I don’t know when I’ve laughed so 
hard. What do you suppose put it into their 
heads?” 

“ The devil, Mrs. Berry! The devil! ” 

What! If Margery had not heard it with her 
own ears she would never have believed it possible. 
To say that she was surprised at her aunt’s language 
would be putting it mildly. She was shocked! If 
her father knew about it, Margery wondered, as 
she slipped back Into bed, would he still consider 
Aunt Allle a proper person to take care of them? 

Soon after the departure of the neighborhood 
ladles, when the older children had gone back to 
school and the house was quiet again, Margery be- 
gan to feel faint pangs of what she supposed at first 
was hunger. They grew worse and worse until she 
felt that death from starvation would soon be staring 
her in the face. It got to be terrible. Finally, 
when she tried to sit up, she fell back with the worst 


A CASE OF FITS 


115 

pain in her stomach she had ever had. She would 
have cried out for relief or at least for sympathy 
had there been anyone within ear-shot other than 
Aunt Allie. But as the sight of a person’s death 
throes would afford Aunt Allie only so much plea- 
sure and amusement, Margery kept her lips tightly 
closed and endured in silence. But everyone is not 
so heroically constituted. Suddenly she heard a 
groan long drawn and full of suffering as dreadful, 
apparently, as her own. Then another, and an- 
other. Was Willie Jones a-dyin’, too? 

“ Willie ! ” she called, weakly. But he did not 
hear. 

She slipped painfully out of bed and half crawled, 
half rolled across the floor. 

“ Willie,” she said again, close to the keyhole. 

This time he answered with a groan. 

“ What’s the matter, Willie? ” 

“ I guess — ugh ! ugh ! — I guess I’m — dyin’.” 

“Where at, Willie?” 

“ Stummick,” groaned Willie. 

So he had it, too. It? What was it? In the 
instant of acute vision brought on by a new parox- 
ysm of pain, Margery seemed to divine the truth. 
Some of the symptoms were lacking, to be sure, but 
only such suffering as this could account for those 
others — the lips drawn tightly back, the eyes glazed 
and terror-stricken. Yes, she knew now what was 
the matter. And she saw herself and Willie Jones 
as they would soon be, and the spectacle was so 
pitiable that she wept. Anyone would weep — 
even Aunt Allie. Yes, if her conscience were not 
utterly dead. Aunt Allie would presently have cause 
enough to be miserable. And that, when the time 


ii6 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


came, her remorse and self-reproaches should be 
greater, Margery decided to forgive her. Cost 
what suffering it might, she would forgive her. 

Slowly and painfully she worked her way out to 
the hall. Every movement was torture, but, grit- 
ting her teeth, she pushed on. Halfway down the 
stairs she could go no farther. The pains had 
grown excruciating, and a cry, agonized and tremu- 
lous, formed itself into, “ Aunt Allie ! Aunt 
Alliel ” 

There was no mistaking the urgency of the call, 
and Aunt Allie came answering at once. 

“What is it, Margery?” As she caught sight 
of her niece, with more concern she added: “ Is any- 
thing the matter ? ” 

By this time Margery was rolled into a tight ball, 
and she could not unroll if she would. She was 
moaning and whimpering, too, and only with great 
effort able to speak at all. 

“ I’m sorry — oh I oh ! — what I did — this 
morning.” 

She had meant to say something entirely differ- 
ent; in fact, to forgive instead of beg forgiveness. 
But this was no time for fine distinctions. 

“ I’m sorry — oh I oh ! — I’m dyin’.” 

“ My child, what is it? Tell Auntie.” 

“ I’ve got a — a fit — I guess. Willie Jones, too. 
Oh I Oh ! I guess we — oh ! oh I — caught it 
from Pinkie — this morning — when he — died. 
Oh ! Oh ! Fits is — awful ! I didn’t know they 
— hurt — so.” 

A light was breaking on Aunt Allie. “ Was it 
Pinkie?” she began. 

She was interrupted by a titter from Effie, who 


A CASE OF FITS 


117 

had come up behind her. “ Fits ! ” tittered Effie. 
“ I guess it’s cucumbers and milk! ” And that re- 
called Aunt Allie to the present. 

“You poor child!” she said, lifting Margery 
gently in her arms. “Is it your stomach, dear? 
There, just a minute and Auntie’ll have you in bed. 
Effie, get some boiling water. Quick! ” 

Now, Aunt Allie never showed to such advantage 
as when there was sickness in the family. She was 
capable and clear-headed and, at such times, alto- 
gether gentle. It was surprising how soon she had 
Margery comfortable in one bed — that is, as com- 
fortable as Margery could be before the peppermint 
was ready — and Willie Jones in another. And 
short as the time was until Effie brought up the hot 
water, it was long enough to think out several things. 
To begin with. Aunt Allie suddenly lost all feeling 
of anger and animosity. Suffering had somehow 
changed a brace of young monsters into two poor 
children whose instant relief was, at that moment, 
her greatest concern in life. Yes, they were only 
children, after all, mere mites of children as they 
lay there all crumpled up, their helplessness crying 
out to every feeling of motherhood in her. 

Understand, though. Aunt Allie was not like her 
brother-in-law ; she saw no fun or amusement in 
things which were neither funny nor amusing, but, 
on the contrary, most reprehensible. But, though 
devoid of appreciation of naughtiness. Aunt Allie 
had too much common sense to miss the significance 
of the present opportunity. Hitherto she had failed 
signally to win the affection or even the respect of 
her sister’s youngest child. Perhaps she had been 
too severe, too dictatorial. No matter about that 


ii8 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


now. She was to have another chance. Tn the 
softened mood which would come with conva- 
lescence, Margery would be exquisitely responsive 
to the right words. And Aunt Allie had tried so 
many wrong words — not wrong in themselves, to 
be sure, but wrong when applied to this particular 
bit of humanity — that now she knew, as though 
by a process of elimination, what the right ones 
were. 

Then Effie came with the hot water, and, before 
you could say Jack Robinson, Aunt Allie had the 
peppermint and sugar mixed, and, my I didn’t it feel 
good going down! 

The twins were a few moments late for dinner. 
They had spent the afternoon at Gladys Bailey’s, 
reviewing geography and spelling for the next day’s 
examinations. As they sat down they glanced from 
Margery to their father significantly. 

“ Gladys Bailey’s mother says,” began Katherine, 
“ that she never heard of such a thing.” As her 
father did not seem to understand, she added, 
“ What Margery and Willie Jones did to Aunt Al- 
lie, you know.” 

The Blair father gave a mental groan. He had 
thought when he came in that he had detected a new 
feeling between Margery and her aunt. Margery 
was so affectionate and gentle and Aunt Allie so se- 
rene, he had half decided that, by some good fortune, 
the breach between them must be healed. At Kath- 
erine’s words the disagreeable scene of breakfast re- 
turned, and he feared the worst. But a surprise 
was in store for him and for Katherine as well. 

“ Katherine,” Aunt Allie said, firmly, “ there is 


A CASE OF FITS 


119 

no need of bothering your father with everything 
that happens. If Margery did something she 
should not have done, it was because she did not 
quite understand. But there is no need of talking 
about it any more, because she understands now. 
Don’t you, dear? ” 

Margery looked at her aunt with shining eyes. 
She had hoped Aunt Allie in her sweet new kindness 
would go so far as not to tell her father, but she had 
not dared ask so great a favor. And here, unasked. 
Aunt Allie was granting it. All afternoon while 
they — the three of them. Aunt Allie, she, and Wil- 
lie Jones — had been discussing wild flowers and 
birds, yes, and cats, too, Margery had been asking 
herself whether she did not, after all, love her aunt. 
Now there was no question about it. 

“And I won’t tell him either. Aunt Allie ! ” she 
cried, impulsively, and, in a lower voice, intended 
only for her aunt’s ear, “ What you said to Mrs. 
Berry! ” 



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HOW LATE AT NIGHT DO THEY ARREST PEOPLE? 


V 


THE SLING-SHOT 

/ shot an arrow into the air, 

, It fell to earthy I know not where, 

— The Arrow 

IN WHICH WILLIE JONES GENTLY BUT FIRMLY 
PUTS HIS MOTHER IN HER PLACE 

U T UST look at that prong! Didn’t it bake 
I dandy?” 

Margery took the sling-shot and exam- 
ined the prong carefully. Then she sighed. 

“ I wisht you’d fix me up a sling-shot, Willie.” 
“You! What’d you want with a sling-shot? 
If you did have one your mother’d take it away 
from you.” 

“ I don’t see why my mother’d have to know 
anything about it,” Margery protested. 

“ You don’t, eh? Don’t you suppose the twins’d 
blab on you first thing? ” 

At mention of themselves, Katherine and Alice 
appeared from around the side of the house and 
made straight for the cherry tree under which Wil- 
lie Jon^s and Margery were seated. In a twin- 
kling Willie had the sling-shot hidden, but even so 
Katherine was too quick for him. 

“What are you two doing?” she demanded, sus- 
piciously. 


123 


124 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


“ Nuthin’.” 

You are, tool I saw you! You can’t fool 
me ! What’s that sticking out of your pocket, Wil- 
lie Jones? I just bet anything it’s a sling-shot.” 

As denial would be useless, Willie Jones produced 
the sling-shot with a flourish. 

“Of course it’s a sling-shot! Anyone with 
sense’d know that.” 

“ Well, you just stop shooting a sling-shot around 
here, Willie Jones. You’ll be breaking windows 
the first thing you know ! ” 

“ And putting people’s eyes out,” Alice added. 

“ Then people better be getting out o’ the way,” 
Willie Jones retorted, significantly. 

But the twins had no thought of departing. In- 
stead, they pulled a garden bench over to a shady : 
spot commanding a good view of the cherry tree. ' 
There ostensibly they busied themselves with their ■ 
sewing, but Margery and Willie knew that they were ' 
keeping a sharp lookout prepared, nay, eager to wit- 
ness one or another of the disasters they had proph- 
esied. 

It will be remembered that, up to this, Willie - 
Jones had not discharged his sling-shot once. Now, 
under the twins’ ' challenging scrutiny, there was j 
nothing for him to do but fill his pocket with peb- 
bles and begin the target practice which they were ^ 
expecting. As it happened there were some spar- ^ 
rows on the laundry roof. f 

“ You stop shooting our house ! ” Katherine called 
out, emphatically. ' 

“If you break that laundry window, you’ll have 
to pay for it,” Alice added. 

“ Think I can’t hit the third post on that fence? ” i 


THE SLING-SHOT 


125 

Willie Jones asked Margery, superbly unconscious 
of the hostile eyes that were watching. 
ol “See that tin can down near the stable? Bet I 
can plug it. . . . Want to see me nick that sec- 
ond beanpole? . . . Bet you two cents I can 
i graze that flower-pot. . . 

At every fresh shot, the twins continued to call 
tl out the proper warning determined that, when the 
disaster came,, no one could accuse them of not 
id having done their duty. Beyond the satisfaction of 
fs knowing within themselves that they were doing 
their duty they got no return for their trouble. 
Instead of thanking them for their kind advice, Wil- 
” lie Jones and Margery ignored them utterly and con- 
tinued a reckless career which, if only pursued long 
]. I enough, would inevitably lead to ruin and disgrace, 
y But the end was longer in coming than the twins 
had anticipated and they, a little tired perhaps of 
waiting, when they heard their friend, Gladys Bai- 
ley, hoo-hoo from the street, were foolish enough 
to leave their garden bench and stroll out to the 
gate. So, afterward, though they might be morally 
certain as to how the catastrophe took place they 
could not speak with quite the assurance of actual 
eyewitnesses. 

“ Oh, go on, Willie. Give me a shot.” 

Margery had begged this more than once but not 
until the twins had disappeared did he consent. 
Then, as there was no further necessity for crack 
shooting, he was willing to let her try. 

“ Plug away at that sparrer up on the laundry 
roof,” he advised. “ Hold the stone this way. 
Pull back evenly on both rubbers so’s you’ll fire 
right in the middle of the prong. Aim so’s the 


126 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


stone’s on a straight line with the sparrer. Here,! ^ 
let me show you.” ^ 

Willie Jones closed one eye entirely, squinted thei ^ 
other, held his breath and took long, careful aim.; ^ 
“ There ! Now you try it just the same way.” 
Margery could do the eye business to perfection' 
She screwed her face up even tighter than Willicj | 
Jones. She held her breath until her tense little 
body almost exploded. She took aim long and care^ i 
fully. 

Willie Jones, looking over her shoulder, was say-^ j 1 
ing: “Wait a minute! Now! A little bit over ' 
this way. . . . Now a little higher. . . 

No, not quite so high. A little — ” I' 


Then, just as Margery let fire, in his excitement 
to give one final order, Willie jogged her elbow.) 
Instantly there was a crash, that peculiar sickening I 
crash which is unmistakable. Both marksmen gavel 
one frightened look at the laundry window and fled. 

They hadn’t a word to say until they were safely 
over the fence and in the Joneses’ back yard. 

“ Jiminy, Margery!” Willie began, reproach- 
fully, “ I don’t see how you did that.” * 

“ How I did it! ” Margery repeated, indignantly.! 
“ You know very well, Willie Jones, if you hadn’t , 
knocked against my arm — ” I 


But Willie Jones did not care to argue that detail.! 
Instead, he said at once: , 

“ Good thing those old twins weren’t there.! 
They’ll swear we did it, but what can they prove? 
They didn’t see us.” 

No, they hadn’t, but even so Margery shook her 
head dolefully. She had reason to know from many 
a past experience the deadly power of circumstantial 


THE SLING-SHOT 


127 


evidence. However, there was nothing to do but 
wait. Put off the day of reckoning as long as you 
can and sometimes an unexpected reprieve comes 
along. For Instance, when you’ve done something, 
if, before the hour of judgment, one of your broth- 
ers or sisters does something ever so much worse, 
the chances are that you’ll get off easy. Not that 
Margery could depend on those blameless sisters of 
hers ever helping her out or on Henry either. This 
may therefore be an unfortunate example of the 
principle Involved. Nevertheless, the principle it- 
self is sound. Margery was convinced of this and 
determined, accordingly, not to appear at home for 
the rest of the afternoon. Just before dinner she 
would slip In quietly, unobtrusively, exemplifying 
In her manner the old adage which affirms that 
children should not be heard. After that, how 
much longer judgment could be suspended, Mar- 
gery was uncertain. The Blair father never al- 
lowed the dining-table to be turned Into an inquls- 
. itorlal court. But, unfortunately, he was away. 
The Blair mother, even more unfortunately, 
was not a very dependable sort of person. She 
might adhere to her husband’s policy or she might 
allow the twins to work her Into a frenzy before 
dessert. You never could tell. However, be that 
as It might be, there were still three or four hours 
before dinner — a respite not to be scorned. 

“ I guess you better stay here this afternoon, Mar- 

Willie Jones suggested this of his own volition. 
He, too, must have had some Inkling of that principle 
of conduct upon which Margery expected to act. 

“ My mother,” Willie continued, “ Is going to 


128 THE YOUNG IDEA 

send me for some honey and you can come with me if 
you want” 

“Where to, Willie?” 

“To an old lady that everybody calls Mother 
Fagin.” 

“Why, Willie,” Margery exclaimed, in surprise; 
“ will your mother eat her honey? She’s as dirty! ” 

“ Her honey ain’t. It’s dandy. Mis’ Berry 
gave us some last night.” 

“ Have you ever seen her house? ” 

Willie had not 

“ Well, just you wait Of course, though, I’ll 
go with you. I know where it is, too. I went 
there once a long time ago with Aunt Allie. Aunt 
Allie would never let us go again. She says it’s 
dangerous to eat things out o’ such a dirty place.” 

Willie Jones, unimpressed with the danger, said: 
“ Wait a minute and I’ll tell my mother I’m ready.” 

The Jones mother followed Willie out to repeat 
her instructions. 

“ You understand, Willie, you’re to tell the old 
woman we want to try a pound of her very best 
honey. And be careful, dear, not to break the Ma- 
son jar. And — don^t lose the twenty cents! ” 

Once well started, Willie divided responsibilities 
with Margery by letting her carry the Mason jar. 
He explained to her that he needed his hands free 
for any little thing that might come up. They loi- 
tered along slowly for a good many little things 
came up — chippies, cats, dogs, telegraph poles and 
various et ceteras, one and all of which demanded 
and received an exhibition of Willie Jones’s sling- 
shotical skill. To Willie’s great relie'f, Margery 
did not again ask to try. She seemed to realize now 


I 


THE SLING-SHOT 


129 


that the role of appreciative spectator was more 
truly feminine and therefore better suited to her. 
Perhaps on some future occasion she might be 
tempted again to take long, careful aim, but for the 
present she was willing to carry the Mason jar. 

A weatherbeaten little sign reading, honey and 
EGGS FOR SALE HERE, marked their destination. 
Mother Fagin lived in a tumbledown old house 
standing in the midst of an ancient garden and pro- 
tected from the road by a fence of high palings 
which, under the crushing weight of years, was 
sagged and broken in many places. The garden 
had ill kept paths bordered by uneven rows of dirty 
bottles and decorated with old buckets, cracked 
pitchers, and broken lamp shades out of which sad, 
scrawny flowers were struggling to grow. Looking 
in some directions one might suppose that the old 
place had been deserted for ages, but elsewhere one 
saw touches, weak for the most part and ineffectual, 
yet showing unmistakably that a human hand was 
still striving to hold back nature’s exuberant army 
, of weeds and to prop up the pillars which time and 
' decay were slowly undermining. All in all it looked 
I what it was — the forlorn habitation of helpless old 
; age. 

I A heavy rose bush grew across the front door, 

' giving fair notice that entrance to the old house was 
: not there and had not been this many a day. Mar- 
i' gery and Willie looked at it a moment to make sure 
|i and then followed the bottled path to a small back 
porch. An old dog greeted them with a toothless 
growl, then wagged his tail weakly. There was 
nothing to fear from him. He had come to a time 
when he would be friends with all the world. 

9 


130 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


To his first knock Willie Jones got no response. 

“ Louder,” Margery admonished. “ She’s aw- 
ful deaf.” 

So Willie pounded and pounded and finally kicked. 
Then he peeped into the window but the glass was 
so dim with dust and cobwebs that he could see 
nothing. 

“ It’s no good,” he said, after giving the door 
another sound kick. “ If she can’t hear that, she 
must be out. That’s all they is about it. Now 
what shall we do? Wait?” 

Willie sat down on the porch step to consider the 
question and Margery followed him, somewhat gin- 
gerly. The step was as grimy as a step could well 
be — not with actual mud but with the ground-in 
dust and soot of years. Even the small pile of 
kindling which stood near the door had none of the 
whiteness of freshly-cut wood but was gray and 
cobwebby like everything else about. Off in one 
corner was a heap of filthy rags which Margery 
pointed to without a word. 

“ Aw, what’s the matter with you? ” Willie Jones 
expostulated. “ You’re too finicky. I guess if you : 
was as old as Mother Fagin you wouldn’t mind a lit- I 
tie thing like dirt.” 

He turned resolutely away and began a long dis- 1 
tance inspection of the beehives which stood under | 
a row of ancient apple trees. Suddenly he listened i 
intently. l 

“ Why, Margery, I believe the old lady’s got j 
pigeons ! ” i 

Margery listened and presently she, too, heard 
a gentle kr-r-roo — kr-r-roo. 

“ Let’s go see ’em,” Willie suggested. 


THE SLING-SHOT 


131 

“ But, Willie, if old Mother Fagin catches us, 
she’ll just give it to us. Honest, she will. She’s 
fierce ! ” 

Never having seen the lady in question, Willie 
Jones was undismayed. 

‘‘ Aw, go on. Can’t we watch? And if we see 
her coming can’t we skip?” 

Willie Jones insisted and Margery, against her 
better judgment, allowed herself to be drawn past 
the row of beehives down to a small chicken run. 
There they found the pigeons fluttering about the 
loft of the hen-house. 

The gate to the run was unlocked, so Willie had 
no trouble entering. 

“ Come on, come on,” he repeated more than 
once as Margery hesitated at the gate. “ Don’t be 
a scary cat.” 

“ Well, Willie, you can see them just as well from 
the outside and, besides, if we get inside and don’t 
hear her cornin’ she’ll have us.” 

But again Willie insisted and again Margery al- 
lowed herself to be persuaded. Now the hen-house 
was built close beside the eastern fence of the run 
and faced south. The gate to the run was also on 
the eastern fence but behind the hen-house. Conse- 
quently, when standing in front of the hen-house 
one could not see the gate. So Margery’s pleasure 
in viewing the pigeons was somewhat marred by the 
frequent journeys she made to the gate to make sure 
that no one was coming. Willie Jones, feeling no 
such anxiety, was able to enjoy a leisurely inspec- 
tion of the cotes and to give the pigeons themselves 
an individual examination. 

“ Want to see me make ’em fly? ” he would ask 


132 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


occasionally. His way of doing this was to fire a 
shot to which the pigeons made instant and noisy 
protest in a chorus of indignant kr-r-roos and a snap- 
ping whir of wings. A spectator might suppose, 
nay, would suppose that Willie Jones was firing at 
the pigeons. With a nice discrimination he was in 
reality firing near them. 

Security 'breeds carelessness and Margery, after 
running around the hen-house some half dozen times, 
finally seated herself on a box. 

“Ain’t we been here long enough?” she asked, 
presently. 

Willie thought not. Where could they better 
wait for the old lady’s return than right there? 

“ If she catches us here,” Willie said, enlarging 
on the thought, “ I’ll ’splain to her we want some 
honey and was just a-lookin’ round at things.” 

“ But, Willie, she ain’t a person you can ’splain 
things to — she’s so old and deaf.” 

Willie smiled superiorly and Margery got off her 
box to have another look at the gate. This time as 
she turned the corner of the chicken-house she gave 
a shrill exclamation and stopped long enough to 
scream the warning: 

“ Cheese it, Willie! Cheese it! She’s coming! ” 

Willie Jones, not to be hurried by Margery’s 
womanish fears, took another shot, watched the re- 
sults, and, when it suited his dignity, started lei- 
surely away. Too leisurely, he suddenly realized, 
at sight of an old woman standing inside the run 
fumbling at the gate. Margery, on the outside of 
the run, was hopping about like a creature possessed. 

“ Oh, Willie! ” she cried, in an agony of alarm; 
“why didn’t you come when I called you? She’s 


THE SLING-SHOT 


133 

locking the gate I She says she’s going to kill you I 
And then she’s going to give you to the Policeman! 
O dear, O dear, is there no way for you to get 
out ? ” 

There didn’t seem to be. Scaling the fence — a 
smooth lath-and-wire fence surmounted by barbed 
wire — was clearly out of the question. Willie 
Jones swallowed dryly and approached the old 
woman whose back was still toward him. 

“ Excuse me. Mis’ Fagin,” he began, in his po- 
litest manner; “but my mother wants a pound o’ 
your best honey.” 

Willie got no reply for, like the adder, deafness 
turns a heedless ear to politeness however charming. 
When the gate was locked and the key safely in her 
pocket. Mother Fagin turned. The mere sight of 
her face made Willie Jones jump. She had a great 
nose that hung down and nearly touched a long pro- 
truding chin of the same shape. In repose even 
these exaggerated features might not have been ter- 
rifying but they, or, at any rate, the chin, never was 
in repose. It was constantly in motion — in double 
motion, up and down and from side to side like a 
cow chewing its cud. The gray hair that hung in 
elfish locks over the keen old eyes, the man’s coat in 
which the old woman was dressed, the strange 
twisted stick she carried in one hand — all added 
to the weirdness of her appearance and to Willie 
Jones’s startled imagination made her out a veritable 
old witch. 

“ Excuse me. Mis’ Fagin,” he said, again, “ but 
my mother — ” 

She, seeing him by this time, began to brandish 
her stick and make toward him. During the ex- 


134 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


citing moments that followed Willie Jones noticed 
that her jaws never for an instant ceased their chew- 
ing. Fascinated he watched them and, even at the 
very height of terror for his own safety, his mind 
kept going over and over the question, “ What in 
the world do you suppose she’s a-chewin’? ” 

His body, meanwhile, was dancing lightly before 
her, just out of reach of her crooked stick. 

“ Ha, ha. I’ve got you this time ! ” She had a 
terrible bass voice the very sound of which made you 
hop. “ So you’re the little devil that’s been shoot- 
ing my pigeons, eh? Well, after I’m done with 
you you won’t be shooting them any more! And 
when I’m done with you I’ll go after that little gal 
on the other side of the fence. Oh, I’ll get you 
both yet! I know you both, I know you well! 
Old Mother Fagin knows you ! ” 

“We want some honey! ” Margery screamed at 
the top of her voice, waving the Mason jar frantic- 
ally. 

“ HONEY ! ” Willie Jones roared, hardly know- 
ing what he said. 

“ Honey,” Mother Fagin repeated, still chewing, 
chewing, chewing. “ You’ll spoil my honey for me 
if I don’t let you off, will you? No, my young gen- 
tleman, you won’t spoil anything. When I’m 
through with you I’ll hand you over to the policeman 
and the policeman’ll take you off to the gallows. 
That’s the place for boys who use sling-shots.” 

All this while she was moving forward step by 
step, chewing, chewing, chewing, until Willie Jones i 
was weak with terror. If she would only stop chew- 
ing for a moment he might be able to think. But 
she never stopped. Step by step she forced him 


THE SLING-SHOT 


135 

around to the front of the hen-house and at each 
step her jaws made a soundless crunch. 

“ Oh, Willie, be careful ! ” Margery cried 
through the fence. “ Don’t let her corner you! ” 

Though scarcely able to think for himself, for- 
tunately Willie Jones could act on outside sugges- 
tion. In fact, thereafter he did mechanically what 
Margery directed. 

Twice the old woman drove him around the 
chicken-run and twice almost cornered him. It was 
like a dreadful nightmare. She didn’t move fast 
but she was always at it, always threatening to clutch 
him, and always chewing, chewing, chewing. The 
chickens, too, squawking wildly and dashing blindly 
about, did much to confuse him. Under the strain 
Willie Jones was fast losing his head and Margery, 
who was following the chase breathlessly, saw that, 
if something did not happen quickly, poor Willie 
Jones would soon be done for. Distractedly she re- 
viewed the situation. There was but one possible 
bridge of escape and that was a very shaky one. 
But shake or no shake, Willie Jones would have to 
try it. 

“ Listen, Willie. Come over here toward the 
chicken-house again.” 

Willie dodged toward the chicken-house not be- 
cause he saw any reason for doing so but because 
he was told to. 

“Now, Willie, quick! Grab up that box. 

. . . Put it in front of the window. . . 

Now jump up on the window. Quick, now! See 
if those pigeon perches are solid. Don’t you see if 
they are you can climb up on them and then you can 
get on the roof. Hurry, Willie! If you only get 


136 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


to the roof you can drop down over the fence on 
this side! Don’t you understand?” 

Willie got as far as the hen-house window with- 
out mishap. Then he hesitated. 

“ It’s no go, Margery. I can’t make it.” 

“ Get out o’ that window, you young devil 1 ” 

Mother Fagin was slowly, surely getting to him. 
Her arm and her stick were up, her chin was moving 
faster, more fascinatingly than ever. In another 
moment she would have him and then, the conscious- 
ness came over him, she would be chewing him! 

“Climb up, Willie Jones! Climb! Do you 
hear me — CLIMB ! ” 

Willie Jones gave one last terrified glance at those 
quivering jaws and then made a wild jump at the 
pigeon roosts. He caught them and they held and 
he pulled himself up to the roof amid the indignant 
kr-r-roos of the frightened pigeons. After that to 
crawl to the back of the roof, hang an instant, and 
drop to the ground on the safe side of the fence was 
the work of a moment. 

“Now,” Margery cried, clutching him firmly; 
“let’s run!” 

This time Willie Jones did not linger and off they 
started as Mother Fagin, seeing what was happen- 
ing, raised her voice in a torrent of overwhelming 
abuse: she knew them both; she would have them 
yet; within half an hour a policeman would be after 
them. Margery and Willie did not wait to hear 
her out but fled up the bottled path and through 
the rickety front gate as though pursued by goblins. 

“Oh!” Margery gasped at last. “Can’t we 
rest a minute? ” 

“ Not here,” Willie said, with a fearful glance 


THE SLING-SHOT 137 

over his shoulder. “Wait till we get to those 
bushes.” 

Behind the bushes, Margery dropped down limp 
and panting. 

“ Oh, Willie, ain’t she turrible ! Do you know, I 
believe she’s a real witch! ” 

“ They ain’t no such things as witches,” said Wil- 
lie Jones, bravely. Then he took a cautious peep 
down the road. 

“How do you know they ain’t? Even if they 
ain’t,” Margery concluded, in tones of unshakable 
conviction, “ I bet she’s one.” 

“ Well, all I got to say — we better not hang 
around here too long. First thing you know she’ll 
nab us I ” 

Margery shuddered. 

“ But listen, Willie. We better not go home the 
same way.” 

“ Why not?” 

“ She — she might see us and find out where we 
live.” 

Willie nodded gravely. 

“ So hadn’t we better twist around as much as we 
can so’s to fool her, don’t you know? ” 

Yes, on the whole, that would be the safest plan. 
So they took the longest possible way home and even 
so ran most of the distance and hid many times. 
Finally in Willie Jones’s back yard they rested. 

“ Do you really think she knows us like she says 
she does?” Margery asked for the fiftieth time. 
“ I don’t see how she can, do you, Willie? ” 

Willie Jones, whose courage by this time was fast 
rising, declared that of course she didn’t. In his 
opinion she was just bluffing. 


138 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


“ But, Willie, what if she does send a police- 
man? ” 

“ I’ll hide down in our cellar,” Willie decided, 
promptly. “ I know a place down there where I 
bet no one could find me. Where’ll you go?” 

“ I suppose I could hide in the attic. But what 
if he catches us before we have a chance to hide? ” 

For a full moment Willie Jones considered this 
frightful possibility. Then he spoke: 

“ I tell you what, Margery, we’ll just have to be 
on the lookout. If a policeman comes into our 
yard. I’ll skip over our back fence and give three 
whistles at your dining-room window. You know 
the kind. Then while he’s still ringing our doorbell 
I’ll scoot down our cellar by the outside door. And 
if he comes to your house first, you jump up on the 
back fence and give three hoo-hoos and I’ll know 
what you mean.” 

With this understanding the two friends parted. 

At dinner that night, the Jones mother beamed 
fondly on her son. 

“ Willie, your father won’t be home till late. So 
you and I shall have the evening together. Now, 
what shall we do? ” 

Willie Jones, absorbed in his own thoughts, an- 
swered at random: “No, thank you. Mamma. I 
don’t want any more.” 

“Willie! What are you thinking about? You 
didn’t hear a word I said! ” 

This time Willie listened and then very politely 
assured his mother that anything she wished to do 
would please him. That was the proper kind of 
answer. 


THE SLING-SHOT 


139 


“ Well, dear, I thought we could read. You 
know that nice Henty book that we haven’t quite fin- 
ished. But you undress first. Put on your pajamas 
and dressing-gown and then, when we’re ready for 
bed, you can pop right in.” 

Willie Jones did not seem enthusiastic over the 
idea of undressing immediately but, as his mother 
was very insistent and as he couldn’t explain to her 
why he preferred his daytime costume, there was 
nothing for him but to agree. Anyhow, if the worst 
came to the worst, the dressing-gown would be just 
as comfortable to hide in behind the furnace as any- 
thing else. 

So after dinner Willie marched up-stairs and the 
Jones mother, waiting for him, book in hand, smiled 
happily to herself. Of late they had been seeing too 
little of each other — she and her boy. An evening 
like this was just what they needed to re-establish 
that close intimacy which had once been so dear to 
her. For some time past she had had the feeling 
that her boy was slipping from her. Playmates his 
own age were meaning more to him than she meant. 
He came home now from play and from school full 
of thoughts which he kept to himself, never sharing 
them with her. There had once been a time when 
his mind had been open to her as a printed page — 
the time when, whatever she found there, had been 
placed there by herself. And she had fondly sup- 
posed that it was always to be thus. Then on a cer- 
tain bitter day, not very long ago, as days and weeks 
count, she found out her mistake. It was the day 
he deliberately lied about a torn collar. Lying was 
so new to him then that she had had small trouble 
in getting at the truth. But he had learned a good 


140 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


deal since, and so had she. For one thing she no 
longer pressed him now on things about which he did 
not care to speak. Far be it from her to force him 
into lies and, besides, he was growing too plausible, 
too glib. So in this as in many other directions she 
was doing her best to adjust herself to the new order 
of things and to reconcile herself to the thought that 
she could not expect always to be foremost in her 
boy’s mind. 

“ Don’t worry about nothing,” her husband had 
said to her. “ The boy’s all right. We can’t ex- 
pect to keep him tied at home all his life. It’s 
necessary for his growth that he get out and learn 
things for himself. We’ll do our best to keep him 
clean and decent and the chances are he’ll come out 
all right. But don’t be forever nagging at him. 
It’s bad enough to be an only child without that.” 

And she, understanding that he thought her cor- 
rections nagging, tried hard to close her eyes to many 
a fault which in the old days she would have treated 
as heinous crimes. Yes, every day now there were 
little things she let pass by. And sometimes, by mis- 
take, she excused the wrong things and took him to 
task for the trivial ones. It was hard always to 
know beforehand which was which. She had some- 
thing to-night she wished to speak about but, if she 
found him unresponsive, she was not going to press 
the matter. She was not going to have him or any- 
one else feel that she nagged him. 

“ Now, won’t we be comfy,” she said, as Willie 
appeared, a comical little figure in dressing-gown and 
slippers. It was a gorgeous dressing-gown with a 
great red and white collar and striped border. 
What wasn’t collar and border was given up to a 


THE SLING-SHOT 


141 

riotous firmament of red moons, red half moons and 
red stars sailing through a white sky. The girdle 
was red with large white tassels. The Jones mother 
tended, as this shows, toward the odd and fanciful 
in her son’s dress. Willie used to wear what was 
put on him without comment, but now — another 
phase of that change which had come over him — 
he fought and abhorred anything that made him dif- 
ferent in appearance from other boys. He had ac- 
cepted the dressing-gown, in the first place, as a com- 
promise, in return for certain concessions from his 
[ mother which he had insisted upon in the matter of 
street clothes. Even so, he let it be understood that 
|j he thought he was very generous to wear, if only in 
the privacy of his own home, a thing that made him 
look like a clown. 

Willie seated himself on the sofa beside his mother 
and waited. 

“ There is one thing I want to talk about,” the 
Jones mother began, “ before we read. That sling- 
shot, Willie, that I saw you playing with to-day — I 
wonder do you realize what a dangerous toy it is? 
You might break a window the easiest thing in the 
world or you might injure someone’s eyesight. 
Such accidents happen all the time.” 

Willie Jones looked up. He remembered sud- 
denly that he had — no, not he, exactly, but that 
there had been a window broken that very afternoon. 
Had someone been carrying tales to his mother? A 
close scrutiny of his mother’s face persuaded him that 
she had touched upon the subject of windows by pure 
chance. 

“ So,” his mother continued, “ don’t you think it 
would be better to give me that sling-shot? ” 


142 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


“ No, Mamma,” Willie said, slowly; “ I think Ell 
keep it myself.” 

There was nothing disrespectful or impudent in his 
tone. He was merely stating a determination which 
he felt he had every right to make. It was not a 
matter for further discussion; it was what he was 
going to do. And his mother was so sure he would 
do it that she dared not urge him further. 

“ But you’ll promise me one thing, won’t you, 
Willie? ” she begged. “ Won’t you promise me not 
to shoot it? ” 

“ No, Mamma,” he said, in the same measured 
tones, “ I don’t think I ought to promise that. You 
see I might be tempted to break my promise and you 
wouldn’t want me to do that, now would you ? But 
there is one thing I will promise ” — he beamed on 
her brightly — “ I will promise to be awful careful 
about windows and people’s eyes and things.” 

The Jones mother had perforce to accept this sac- 
rifice as graciously as it was tendered. Then, as 
there was no more to say, she opened the Henty 
book. 

They had reached that most interesting point in 
the story where the youthful hero has obtained by 
accident and pluck the information which is to de- 
termine the morrow’s battle. The Jones mother 
read with force and expression giving due emphasis 
to every passage of fine courage and noble patriot- 
ism. 

“ Willie ! ” she exclaimed, finally, “ what do you 
think of a boy like that? ” 

On Willie’s face there was a rapt, faraway look. 
His jaws were working curiously. He hesitated a 
moment before answering, then he said: 


THE SLING-SHOT 


143 


“ Yes, Mamma, but — ” 

“ But what, Willie?” 

“ Mamma, do you know what it is old ladies 
chew? ” 

The Jones mother stared. “ Why, Willie, what 
put such an idea into your head? ” 

“ Oh, nuthin’. I was just a-wonderin\” 

“ Well, my dear,” — the Jones mother spoke with 
axiomatic finality — “ whatever it was, remember 
this: Ladies never chew anything.” 

Willie Jones knew better than that but, as his 
mother spoke honestly out of what he must consider 
her more limited experience in life, he let the subject 
drop. 

“ All right. Mamma. And now let’s have some 
more reading.” 

So the Jones mother, though reluctant to miss the 
clue which had prompted her son’s question, was 
forced back to the book. She read on and on striv- 
ing hard to evince from her own manner the interest 
which the climax of the story deserved. At last she 
reached the moment when the great General put his 
hand on the youthful hero’s head and, in a voice 
broken with feeling, exclaimed, “ My lad, but for 
you to-morrow had been a sad day for old Eng- 
land! ” 

The Jones mother again paused expectantly. This 
time Willie spoke at once. 

“ Say, Mamma, stop a minute, will you? I want 
to ask you something.” 

“Well, dear?” 

“ How late at night do they arrest people? ” 

“How late at night do they arrest people!” 
The Jones mother closed the Henty book and gave 


144 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


full attention to her son’s query. “ What in the 
world do you mean ? ” 

“How late at night do they arrest people?” 
Willie reiterated. “ When — when does the police- 
man go to bed? ” 

“ Oh, I see what you mean. You mean: How 
many hours is a policeman on duty? Is that it? ” 

Willie thought that perhaps that was it. 

“ I think, Willie, that they’re on duty eight 
hours.” 

By a rapid calculation, Willie discovered that eight 
hours from twenty-four would give him more than 
enough time for a comfortable night’s rest if only he 
could find out when the policeman’s eight hours 
ended. 

“ Yes, Mamma, but what time do they leave their 
beat?” 

“Well, Willie, that depends.” (Maddening, 
isn’t it? how seldom a grown-up is able to make you 
a direct answer!) “Now, for instance, take the 
policeman that stands up on our corner. Lately I 
have seen him in the afternoon and early evening. 
I think his beat is probably from i o’clock in the 
afternoon to 9 o’clock at night.” 

That was what Willie wanted to know. 

“ And, Mamma, after 9 o’clock at night, does he 
go home? ” 

“ I suppose he does,” the Jones mother answered. 
“ He ought to. At any rate, he’s no longer on 
duty.” 

“ And when he’s no longer on duty he don’t make 
any more arrests, does he. Mamma? ” 

“ No, certainly not.” 

“ That means 9 o’clock. Mamma? ” 


THE SLING-SHOT 


145 

“ I can’t speak positively, Willie, but I think it 
does.” 

At that moment Willie Jones was thankful that 
his mother had taught him to tell time. He could 
look at the clock and see for himself that it was 
about half past eight. That meant he would have 
to stay on watch but a little while longer. When 9 
o’clock struck he would be able to go to bed with a 
free mind. So, after all, they had given old Mother 
Fagin the slip ! After all, the old lady had been 
bluffing when she said she knew them ! If she had 

I known them she would have sent a policeman after 
them or come herself long before this. Willie Jones 
gave a deep sigh of relief. 

j “ Willie,” his mother said, “ what is the matter 
! with you? You’ve been so strange all evening — 
I asking such odd questions. What are you thinking 
about? Come, tell mother.” 

But before Willie had a chance to tell a ring at the 
front door made him jump In fright. He looked 
about frantically for a moment and then gasped 
out: 

“I — I — I’m going to bed I I — I — I’m 
awful tired I And don’t let anyone come up-stairs ! 
You won’t. Mamma, will you? ” 

The Jones mother looked at her son In amazement 
but, before she could speak, he was gone. Twice on 
the stairs he tripped on his dressing-gown yet even 
so he got to his room and had his head burled In 
the covers before his mother had opened the front 
door. Why, at the moment of peril, he fled up-staIrs 
instead of to the cellar, as he had planned, he could 
not have told himself. Instinct not reason had 
guided him. 

10 


146 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


He waited ages before venturing to uncover an 
ear. Finally, when he raised his head to listen, he 
heard his mother coming. Back he fell at once into 
the pillow, simulating with all his power the deep 
regular breathing of heavy slumber. 

“Willie! Willie! Wake up! You’re not asleep 

— you know you’re not! Mrs. Blair is down-stairs 
and says you broke her laundry window.” 

Gracious, was that all it was? Willie got up at 
once and without a protest accompanied his mother 
down-stairs. 

The Blair mother was there with her entire brood 

— the twins, Henry and Margery. From appear- 
ances Margery had been in the sweatbox for some 
hours and was still unconquered. The others were 
seated but she, as a criminal on trial, was standing. 
Her little body was tense with defiance, her brows 
were black, her mouth straight-lipped and thin. 
She brightened an instant on the advent of her friend 
and was so far diverted by his costunre that, puffing 
out her cheeks with silent laughter, she pointed her 
finger and whispered, “ Circus ! ” Willie Jones, in 
pretended dudgeon, whispered back, “ Aw, go on ! ” 
Then the Blair mother restored order by saying, 
sharply, “ Margery! ” 

“ Now, Willie,” the Jones mother began, “ the 
twins say you broke their laundry window with your 
sling-shot and Margery says you didn’t. Did you 
do it?” 

Willie turned indignantly on the twins who were 
seated side by side on the sofa, their arms about each 
other. ^ 

“ Do you mean to say you two got the gall to say 
you seen me break that window? ” 


THE SLING-SHOT 


147 


“ We didn’t say we saw you,” the twins reiterated 
over and over. “ But you know yourself you were 
shooting your sling-shot and we told you you would 
break that very window if you weren’t careful. 
Then when we went out to the gate to talk to Gladys 
Bailey somebody broke the window because it was 
broken when we got back and if you didn’t who 
did?” 

“ The last time that window was broken,” the 
Blair mother announced, “ it cost sixty-five cents.” 

“If Willie broke the window,” Willie’s mother re- 
marked, somewhat icily; “he will be glad to pay 
for it. But I can’t quite see why the twins are so 
positive that Willie broke it if they didn’t see him 
do it. What does Margery say? ” 

“ Margery I ” Margery’s mother snorted. “ I’ve 
been struggling with Margery ever since dinner and 
before and I can’t get a thing out of her. Mar- 
gery’s a naughty girl ! ” 

“ Margery,” the Jones mother asked, “ did Willie 
break that window? ” 

“ No, Mrs. Jones, he didn’t.” 

The Jones mother took a long breath and sur- 
veyed the Blair mother and the twins. 

“ Then,” the Blair mother demanded, in sharp, 
staccato tones, “ who — did? ” 

Gathering into one glance all the scorn at her com- 
mand, Margery flung it at her mother and sisters. 
Then she answered, quietly enough; “ I did.” 

“ 0-o-oh ! ” This for a few seconds was the out- 
raged and reproachful chorus of the Blair mother 
and the twins. Then the Blair mother found words. 

“ Oh, what a wicked, ungrateful child you are ! 
Why didn’t you tell me that hours ago? ” 


148 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


“ Because you didn’t ask me.” 

“ Didn’t ask you I ” 

“ No, Mother, you didn’t,” Margery Insisted. 
“ All you and the twins kept saying was, ‘ Willie 
Jones did It! You know he did! Now didn’t 
Willie Jones do it’?” 

The Blair mother and the twins looked at each 
other dumbfounded and helpless. Perhaps — per- 
haps that was the form their inquiry had taken. 

“ And no matter how much anyone wanted me to,” 
Margery continued, making the most of a good 
thing; “ I wasn’t going to say he did when he didn’t. 
That’d be telling a He I ” 

Panoplied in this noble sentiment, Margery faced 
the world calm and self-possessed. 

The Blair mother rose hastily. 

“ I hope you will pardon my mistake, Mrs. Jones, 
but the twins were so sure and Margery was so stub- 
born.” 

The Jones mother could afford to be gracious but 
before she had time to say much she herself was in- 
terrupted by her son. 

“ Wait a minute, Mamma. It was my fault that 
window got broke.” 

The two mothers paused and Katherine exclaimed, 
triumphantly: “Now, Margery Blair, listen to that! 
You say you did it and now Willie Jones says he 
did it.” 

“ What do you mean, Willie? ” the Jones mother 
asked. 

“ If those old twins’ll keep still a minute. I’ll tell 
you. They’re always sticking their oar in our affairs, 
ain’t they, Margery? ” 


THE SLING-SHOT 


149 

“ Well, Willie,” his mother urged, “ tell us what 
you mean.” 

“It was this way,” Willie said; “Margery had 
my sling-shot and was aimin’ at a sparrer. Wait a 
minute. I’ll get my sling-shot and show you.” 

He stumbled up-stairs — dressing-gowns are very 
awkward on stairs — and in a moment was back with 
his sling-shot. 

“ Now, Margery, you aim at the top of that book- 
case. We’ll pretend that’s a sparrer. Just as Mar- 
gery fires I’m going to knock her elbow, by mistake, 
you know. Then what does she do ? Why, she hits 
the window, of course. So she tells the truth when 
she says she broke it. But it was my fault all the 
same-y for hitting her elbow. Now, Katherine Blair, 
what have you got to say to that? ” 

No one had anything to say for a moment. Then 
Henry spoke, briefly, pointedly. It was the only re- 
mark he made the whole evening but not for that 
reason any the less significant. 

“ Don’t you know,” he demanded, in the stern 
voice which a big boy always assumes in addressing 
a small one; “ Don’t you know you hadn’t ought to 
ever let a girl handle a sling-shot?” 

“ It seems to me,” the Jones mother said, revert- 
ing to the original question, “ that this divides the 
blame equally. What do you say, Mrs. Blair, to 
Willie’s bearing half the expense and Margery 
half?” 

“ Aw, now. Mamma,” Willie Jones entreated, gal- 
lantly, “ won’t you let me take the whole sixty-five 
cents out of my bank? ” 

“ Of course not,” the Blair mother said at once. 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


1150 

“ Let It be half and half as you suggest, Mrs. Jones. 
And, now that this little tangle is straightened out, 
we must be going home. It’s time for young people 
to be thinking of bed.” 

While good-nights were being said, Willie got a 
word In private to Margery. 

“ Sst, Margery! You needn’t watch any more! ” 

“Watch what, Willie?” 

“ Why, the policeman, of course.” 

“ What policeman? ” 

Willie Jones looked at her in disgust. In the ex- 
citement of that other dispute, that of the trivial, the 
unimportant old laundry window, Margery had 
actually forgotten! 

“ Why, Mother Fagin’s policeman, of course,” 
Willie whispered, severely. 

“ Oh ! ” Margery recalled that peril with a jump. 
“ What did you say about him, Willie? ” 

Willie pointed to the clock. “ See that? ” 

Yes, Margery did. 

“Well, listen here: Ifs after nine!^* 

Willie’s tone was so full of meaning that Mar- 
gery looked startled. 

“ So,” continued Willie, “ they’s no more police- 
mans around to-night.” 

Still Margery did not understand. “ Why not? ” 
she asked. 

“ Margery,” Willie whispered In desperation, 
“what a dummy you are sometimes! Why not? 
’Cause they all go to bed at 9 o’clock! ” 

Margery hadn’t time to express her relief at this 
astonishing but very sensible bit of information when 
the Jones mother approached and, with great sweet- 
ness, said: 


THE SLING-SHOT 


151 

“ Good-night, Margery. Come over and see me 
some afternoon.” 

The Blair mother, with a cordiality that rang hol- 
low, returned the compliment by saying: “ And you 
must come over and see us, Willie.” 

So on the whole the little affair of the laundry win- 
dow ended very pleasantly. Thanks to the high 
moral tone which Margery had taken toward the 
last and to the nobility of sentiment which had 
prompted Willie Jones voluntarily to assume his just 
share of guilt, no further blame could possibly be 
found with those two estimable young persons. 
Willie Jones, sitting a few moments after the de- 
parture of the Blair family and thinking over the 
adventures of the day, gazed at his sling-shot com- 
placently. 

His mother’s eyes were likewise fastened on the 
sling-shot. It was evident she was hoping that, 
under the circumstances, he might now think better 
of the little request she had made earlier in the even- 
ing. He was thinking, but about something else as 
she discovered when he spoke. 

“ Say, Mamma, don’t you think it’s mean the way 
they’re always a-pickin’ on her? ” 

‘‘ What do you mean, Willie? Who’s picking on 
anyone ? ” 

“ Her mother and those old twins — on Margery, 
I mean. They’re always a-doin’ it. Why, do you 
know if they picked on me at home like they do on 
her, do you know what I’d do? ” 

The Jones mother was eager to hear. 

Why, I — I’d run away ! ” 

For a moment the Jones mother was taken back. 
Then she met the situation fairly. Could she force 


152 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


herself to withdraw even her silent disapproval of 
that sling-shot? Indeed she could! Even at risk 
of another broken window she was not going to insist 
on anything that would justify Willie in thinking 
that he, too, was picked on at home. If he must 
learn by experience, he must. . . . There was 

an expression in the Jones mother’s eye that showed 
her resolution was taken. 

“ But, Willie dear,” she said, earnestly, “ you 
must not be afraid to come to me in trouble as you 
were to-night. I should not have been angry but 
I should have helped you out the best I could. What 
else are mothers for? No matter what it’s about 
you’ll come to me frankly the next time, won’t you, 
dear? ” 

For a moment Willie stared. Then he under- 
stood. His mother supposed his excitement all even- 
ing had been due to that old laundry window ! Well, 
all things considered, perhaps she had just better 
keep on thinking so. What was the use in having 
her worry about things she couldn’t understand any- 
how ? So he answered at once in tones of downright 
sincerity and gratitude : 

“ All right. Mamma. Next time I will! ” 

Presently he yawned. “ My, but I’m sleepy. 
Guess I’ll go to bed.” ' 

He kissed his mother the way she loved to be i 
kissed, first on one cheek then on the other, and 
started off. Suddenly she thought of something and 
called him back. 

“ Just a minute, Willie. I forgot to ask you about 
that honey. Did you get it? ” 

“ No, Mamma, I couldn’t get any. Old Mother 
Fagin wasn’t at home. I knocked and kicked and 


THE SLING-SHOT 


153 

pounded on the door and no one answered. I put 
the twenty cents back on your bureau.’’ 

“ In that case,” his mother said, “ you better try 
again to-morrow afternoon.” 

Willie Jones’s face fell. 

“ Oh, no. Mamma ! ” he gasped. 

“Why not?” 

“ It — it wouldn’t be good for you, dearest.” 

Dearest ! He hardly ever called her that now — 
the name she loved best of all. 

“ Why wouldn’t it be good for me, Willie? ” 

“ Why, because, don’t you know, don’t you know 
it — it’s so dirty! Why, I — I’d be afraid to have 
you eat any honey from old Mother Fagin’s. The 
house is so dirty and everything around is so dirty, 
it — it wouldn’t be healthy for you. They was the 
awfullest looking pile of dirty rags you ever saw. 
Dearest, you won’t eat any honey from there, will 
you ? ” 

His anxiety was so pathetic that the Jones mother, 
taking him in her arms, kissed him over and over. 

“ Indeed I won’t, Willie, not if you don’t want me 
to. Oh, what a big boy you’re getting to be — tak- 
ing care of your old mother in this way! It makes 
me feel very happy,” she said, after good-nights were 
again exchanged; “ it makes me feel very happy to 
see how thoughtful you are becoming of the welfare 
of others.” 

And Willie Jones, as he stumbled up-stairs on his 
dressing-gown, had that comfortable feeling which 
comes to a man who had heard himself praised and 
knows in his own heart that the praise is deserved. 





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VI 


A LITTLE QUESTION IN LADIES’ RIGHTS 

Kind hearts are more than coronets. 

And simple faith than Norman hlood. 

— Lady Clara V ere de V ere. 

IN WHICH MARGERY REACHES A DEFINITE CON- 
CLUSION IN REGARD TO THE SOCIAL STATUS OF 
MISS EFFIE m’GINNISS AND TAKES A FIRM STAND 
ON THE QUESTION OF EQUAL PAY FOR EQUAL 
SERVICE 

M argery was sitting under the cherry 
tree with a certain air of expectation. 
She seemed to be waiting for something 
or somebody. Willie Jones’s head appeared over 
the back fence and Willie Jones himself, a tin pail 
in one hand, dropped into the Blair yard and made 
for the cherry tree. But Margery still gazed ear- 
nestly, tensely into nothing. Willie Jones, evidently, 
was not the object of her thoughts. 

“ What’s the matter, Margery? ” 

“ Nuthin’. I’m just a-waitin’.” 

“Whatfor?” 

There was no reason for telling Willie Jones, but, 
by the same token, there was no reason for not telling 
him. So Margery answered frankly. 

157 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


158 

“ I et a whole bagful of bananas and now Elbe says 
I’m goin’ a-be sick and thr’up. I’m just a-waitin’.” 

“ Whew! How many was they, Margery? ” 

“ I don’t know but a good many.” 

“ Think you might ha’ shared with a fella.” 

“ Well, you see, Willie, I didn’t know anything 
about ’em. None of us did. I thought I smelled 
somethin’ good in the pantry and when Effie went 
up-stairs I went in to see. Sure enough, they was a 
bag o’ bananas, real soft and sweet, don’t you know. 
I et one and then I et another and, before I knew 
it, they was all gone. Then Elbe caught me as I was 
cornin’ out.” 

“ Will she tell on you? ” 

“No, I don’t think she’ll tell on me. But she 
says I’m goin’ a-be awful sick. I was once before. 
So I’m just a-waitin’.” 

“ Aw, you’re not goin’ a-be sick, Margery. That’s 
only Elbe’s bluff. Listen: I’m goin’ out blackber- 
ryin’. They’s just dead loads of great big ripe ones 
on the graveyard patch. My mother’ll give me 10 
cents if I bring her back two quarts.” 

Margery looked at the tin pail longingly. She, 
too, would like to go blackberrying but she realized 
that home was the best place for sick folk. 

“ Aw, come on,” Willie urged. “ You ain’t goin’ 
a-be sick. I bet anything you’re not.” 

Conbdence begets conbdence and, looking at Willie 
Jones’s tin pail, Margery began to wonder whether 
after all Elbe’s prophecy might not prove a false 
one. 

“Well, I tell you what, Willie: Wait a minute 
and I’ll ask Elbe.” 

“ Why do you got to ask her? ” 


A QUESTION IN LADIES’ RIGHTS 159 

“ Because Mother’s not home. Besides, if I do 
get sick I’ll want Effie to take care of me.” 

This last was too sound a reason for Willie to 
gainsay, so Margery called ElEe to the kitchen 
door. 

“ Blackberryin’ ! And in the sun ! ” Effie re- 
peated, when Margery had delivered herself. 
“ Well, I guess not! Here you are just stuffed full 
of ripe bananas and you want a-go out trampin’ in 
the sun! Not much! You stay right where you 
are, me lady, and take care o’ yourself.” 

“ You see,” Margery explained to Willie Jones. 

“ Aw, rats ! ” that young gentleman exclaimed, 
turning a hostile front toward the kitchen door. 
“ Come on, Margery. What do you care what 
Effie says? She’s nuthin’ but an old hired girl! I 
wouldn’t let any old hired girl boss me around ! ” 

“ Any — any old what? ” gasped Effie, her face 
turning red and her eyes opening wide with horror. 

“ Any old hired girl ! ” Willie Jones repeated de- 
fiantly. “ Ain’t she nuthin’ but an old hired girl, 
Margery? ” 

It was a question Margery had never before con- 
sidered. To her Effie had always been merely Effie, 
— merely the person who cooked and sewed and 
swept and waited on table and combed your hair 
and buttoned your dress and did all the thousand and 
one things about the house that had to be done and 
always were done. She was merely Effie and, come 
to think of it, she must be the hired girl for, in every 
other house in the neighborhood, the person who 
did the things or a few of the things which Effie did 
was undoubtedly the hired girl. And if you are a 
thing what’s the sense of pretending you aren’t? 


i6o THE YOUNG IDEA 

Margery didn’t want to offend Effie but facts is 
facts. 

“ Of course Effie’s our hired girl.” 

For a moment Effie looked hurt enough for tears. 
“ Oh, Margery, how can you? And after all the 
years I’ve took care of you and loved you! You 
don’t mean it, do you? You’re not going to call 
your poor old Effie such an ugly name, are you? ” 

“ Well, I don’t see why you talk that way, Effie. 
You are a hired girl, aren’t you? ” 

“ O’ course she’s a hired girl,” Willie Jones in- 
sisted. “ And I’d just like to see any old hired girl 
of ours tellin’ me what I dast do and what I dassent. 
Come on, Margery, we can’t wait all day.” 

“Any old hired girl! ” shouted Effie. She was 
angry now, so angry that Margery and Willie Jones 
retreated a step or two in case of personal violence. 
“ So I’m like any old hired girl, am I ? I’m only 
one of them good-for-nuthin’ tramps that go 
trapzin’ about from house to house and never keep 
a place more than two weeks, am I? I’m a dirty, 
careless, ignur’nt hussy that’s out all night and sleepy 
and lazy all day, am I ? In other words. I’m a hired 
girl! Well, it’s just what Tom has been tellin’ me 
all along and I didn’t believe him. ‘ Nonsense,’ says 
he, ‘ They don’t care nuthin’ for you. To them yir 
only a hired girl,’ says he. ‘ Now come over to my 
place and I’ll make you the housekeeper,’ says he, 

‘ and all you’ll have to do is give your orders to 
the servants.’ And every time I says to Tom, ‘ No, 
Tom,’ I says, ‘ I’m not ready yet. I’ve been with 
these children since before they was born and I can’t ^ 
leave ’em yet. But thank you just the same,’ I says.-^, 
And Tom says, ‘Effie, yir a born fool! What do 


A QUESTION IN LADIES’ RIGHTS i6i 


you think them children care for you ? ’ he says. 
‘ Only what they can get out of you,’ he says. And,” 
concluded Effie, her voice again choked with tears, 
“ I am a fool and Tom’s right. They don’t care 
nuthin’ for me and I’m only the hired girl! ” 

“Who’s Tom, I’d like to know?” Willie Jones 
demanded, offensively. 

“ Who’s Tom? ” echoed Efiie. ’Twas plain that 
insult was being added to insult. “ Why, Tom, me 
young friend, is Thomas McGinniss, Conthractor 
and Builder, that built the house yir living in and 
every house on your street. And it’s ten to one, me 
young gent, that yir own dad is still payin’ his 
monthly installments to Tom McGinniss, brother of 
Effie the Hired Girl.” 

Effie turned haughtily away, then paused to add: 
“ If either of yez ever again have anything to say to 
Effie, when ye ring Mr. Thomas McGinniss’s door- 
bell, ye had better mind yir manners and ask for Miss 
McGinniss.” 

Effie slammed the kitchen door and Willie Jones 
showed how deeply impressed he was by putting his 
thumb on the end of his nose and wiggling his fingers 
in a manner which Margery had often been told was 
highly improper. 

“ Well, come on,” he said, briskly. “ It’s time 
for us to be moving or we never will get two quarts 
picked.” 

So off they started, a good half hour’s tramp in 
the sun. The blackberry patch was in a far unused 
corner of the graveyard, adjoining the plot of un- 
consecrated ground where, as Willie and Margery 
had often heard, only murderers were buried. 
There was, of course, the usual No Trespassing sign 

II 


i 62 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


to meet and pass, the wire fence to slip under, and 
a short stretch of clay and rubble which ended sud- 
denly in a thick brake of blackberry bushes. Once 
in the patch all that was necessary was to keep a 
sharp eye on the gravedigger’s house which stood on 
the knoll beyond, in plain sight, but far enough off 
to give one a good chance of escape in case of de- 
tection. 

“ Now, I’ll let you hold the pail, Margery, and 
I’ll pick into my hat. Jiminy! They haven’t been 
picked over to-day at all. We’ll get our two quarts 
easy.” 

“ H’m,” murmured Margery, tentatively. There 
was a little matter upon which she had been specula- 
ting ever since they left home. “ Are — are you 
goin’ a-give me half the money? ” 

“What money?” 

“ Why, don’t you know, the money your mother’s 
going to pay you for these berries.” 

“ Oh.” The “ Oh ” was all Willie had to answer. 

“ Well, are you? ” 

“ Are I what?” 

“ Are you goin’ a-give me half the money? ” 

“ Well, I — I hadn’t thought about it,” Willie ad- 
mitted. 

Margery felt perfectly sure of this and sure like- 
wise that he never would think of it unless she her- 
self insisted on her rights. There is something in 
that contention which the suffragettes are forever 
making. 

“ Well, just think about it now,” Margery sug- 
gested. “ Here am I pickin’ berries for you as fast 
as I can. I ain’t et one. Now if you go sell these 
berries, you ought a-give me half, oughtn’t you? ” 


A QUESTION IN LADIES’ RIGHTS 163 

“ Well, I — I dunno but what I ought.” 

A timid creature would have rested, content with 
this, but Margery had had too many dealings with 
the other sex to put undue confidence in any conces- 
sion so vaguely expressed, so grudgingly admitted. 
It was rather a hard thing to do — she knew before- 
hand Willie Jones would hate her for it — but a 
nickel is a nickel and now or never, she realized, was 
the moment to demand a definite promise. 

“ Well, then, will you? ” 

“Will I what?” There was a note of impa- 
tience in Willie’s tone. 

“ Will you give me half? ” 

“Half? Half o’ what?” 

“ Half the money you get.” 

“ Oh.” 

But too often before Margery had been put off 
by masculine “ Ohs ” and “ Ahs ” to be shamed into 
silence now. 

“Will you?” she repeated, stopping her picking 
to make her question more emphatic. 

Willie looked apprehensively up toward the grave- 
digger’s house. 

“ If you don’t stop arguin’ and go ahead pickin’ 
we won’t neither of us have anything,” he burst out 
querulously. 

It was hard indeed not to act upon a suggestion 
so plainly expected to be of benefit to them both. 
Fortunately, Margery knew that if she had but char- 
acter to persist a little longer, she would probably 
gain her end. So, by a great effort of will, she con- 
tinued idle and reiterated tiresomely: 

“Well, will you?” 

“ Will I? Why, o’ course I will! ” Willie Jones 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


164 

shouted, his face screwed up into a tight little knot 
of impatience and disgust. “ Ain’t I been tellin’ 
you that for half an hour? You are the dumbest 
ox sometimes! Why do you suppose I’d ha’ been 
askin’ you to help me if I hadn’t expected to share 
with you? You must think I’m an awful tight- 
wad 1 ” 

Margery bent her head humbly under this tirade. 
She had nothing more to say, no defense to utter. 
By her unwomanly persistence she had very clearly 
lost whatever admiration and respect Willie Jones 
might once have felt for her. But — but — but she 
was in for half the profits 1 . . . Women are so 

prone nowadays to prefer some petty material gain to 
the grand old fashioned whatchemaycallit. 

“ I think we’re goin’ a-get our two full quarts,” 
Margery remarked, amiably. Of course she was 
amiable. She had every reason to be amiable. 

Willie Jones, who by this time had fallen upon 
silence, made no comment. 

“ Don’t you think so? ” Margery pursued, sweetly. 

“ Don’t I think what?” 

“ Don’t you think we’ll get our two full quarts? ” 

“ Huh! ” grunted Willie Jones. 

When the tin pail was about full an accident hap- 
pened to Margery. She stepped into something soft 
and clayey and the next instant, seeing what it was, 
she started off by leaps and bounds, crying out the 
shrill warning: “Run, Willie, run! Bumble bees! 
I stepped on a bumble bee nest ! ” 

A young gravedigger — if it be correct to call the 
offspring of an old gravedigger a young gravedig- 
ger — caught sight of the poachers just at this 
moment and, shouting out, “Hey, there! You!” 


A QUESTION IN LADIES’ RIGHTS 165 

started toward them down the knoll. The incred- 
ible speed with which the poachers fled seemed to 
give the young gravedigger an erroneous idea of the 
fear which his presence inspired. There was small 
likelihood of his overtaking them before they reached 
the safety of the other side of the fence, but they 
seemed so little to realize this that, for the mere 
pleasure of pursuit, the young gravedigger pounded 
on, brandishing his arms and roaring his threats. 
He ran to such purpose that, finally, he caught up 
with a small swarm of bees who were buzzing noisily 
about looking for trouble. By this time Margery 
and Willie had made the fence and beyond and so 
Willie had time and courage to face about and shout 
back defiance to all threats and to show his con- 
tempt for the whole race of gravediggers by pointing 
his thumb to his nose and wiggling his fingers in that 
same offensive and, it must be conceded, effective 
manner already mentioned. Although still at a con- 
siderable distance, the young gravedigger caught the 
full meaning of the insult and almost exploded with 
rage. 

“ You — you little — ” he began. But he did not 
finish. Willie Jones saw him stop suddenly, look up, 
and then, flinging his arms over his head, rush madly 
back the way he had just come. 

“ Oh ! Oh ! Oh I ” Willie Jones shouted, hopping 
up and down in the intensity of his enjoyment. 
“ Margery, do you see him ! The bees are after him ! 
Oh, Timiny ! That’s more fun than a box of mon- 
keys! ” 

Willie Jones lay down on the ground and rolled 
and kicked and plucked up handfuls of grass in an 
effort to work off the exuberance of his joy. 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


1 66 

“ Oh I Oh ! Oh I ” he gasped. “ Ain’t that the 
funniest thing you ever seen? ” 

Margery made no answer and at length when the 
humor of the situation had somewhat expended itself, 
Willie Jones turned, suddenly conscious that from 
the start she had not been sharing his transports. 

“Why, what’s the matter, Margery?” 

There was a pained expression on Margei7’s face 
and she was panting. 

“ I’m — I’m stung,” she murmured. 

Willie Jones didn’t have to ask, “ Where at? ” for 
the middle finger of one hand was already standing 
straight out, swollen and red. 

“ I’m awful sorry, Margery, honest I am. Put 
some mud on it. That’ll help some.” 

“ I don’t see any mud,” Margery panted, looking 
hopelessly over the green meadow. 

“Can’t we make some quick enough?” Willie 
asked, digging his heel into the turf. “ Now, Mar- 
gery, spit on this. . . . Aw, that ain’t enough. 

Watch me.” 

By their united efforts they succeeded in mixing a 
mud plaster large enough to daub over the wounded ! 
finger. 

“There now, don’t that feel better?” 

“ I don’t know, Willie. Maybe it does. But do 
you know — do you know — I — I think I’m gettin’ i 
sick.” 

“ Oh, no, you ain’t. You just think you are. 
Brace up now and you’ll feel all right.” Then by 
way of changing the subject and giving praise where 
praise was due, he added: “ That was dandy of you 
not dropping any berries when the bees chased us. 


A QUESTION IN LADIES’ RIGHTS 167 

They ain’t quite two quarts, but don’t you care, I 
think my mother’ll count ’em for two.” 

But Margery was not to be diverted. 

“ Oh, Willie,” she groaned, “ I feel awful sick. 
Oh, if I could only thr’up ! ” 

“ Well, thr’up if you want to,” Willie advised. 
“ They ain’t no one around here and I won’t look, 
honest I won’t.” 

Margery shook her head sadly. 

“I — I can’t do it alone. I got to have hot water 
and things. Come on. We better go home or I 
think I’ll die. Oh, if my head didn’t just ache so! 
Maybe you better lend me your cap, Willie. 
Thanks. I suppose that’ll help my head some, but 
I don’t believe it will. Oh, Willie, do you know 
what I wish? ” 

“What?” 

“ Oh, I do wish I had never et a single banana 1 
And I knew all the time I hadn’t ought to eat so 
many, I knew it just as well. Oh, Willie, ain’t it 
turrible the way a person does a thing even when 
they know they hadn’t ought to? ” 

Willie had little to say all the way home but he 
listened politely as Margery talked on and on, punc- 
tuating her sad moralizings with long labored breaths 
and weary headshakes. 

“ And then afterwards, Willie, if I had only sat 
still as Effie told me to, I might ha’ got off all right. 
But, no, I had to come racin’ off here in the hot sun 
and I knew I oughtn’t to, and then I went into the 
blackberry patch and I knew I hadn’t any right to, 
and all I got to say is, it’s a wonder a hundred bees 
didn’t sting me instead of one. . . .” 


i68 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


“ And you think you got stung because you 
oughtn’t ha’ picked any berries? ” 

“ I just know that was why.” 

“ Well, the gravedigger was gettin’ it worse than 
you, I guess, and he had a right to be there, hadn’t 
he?” 

For a moment Margery was stumped but only for 
a moment. 

“ Yes, Willie,” she said, primly, “ he had a right 
to chase us. But — he had no right to use such 
turrible langwedge. I ain’t a bit surprised he got 
stung for it. You heard him yourself, Willie, you 
know you did.” 

Yes, Willie had heard him and Margery was cer- 
tainly right in intimating that the young gravedigger 
was exceptionally fluent in cuss words. With cause 
and effect so clearly demonstrated, Willie Jones had 
no further argument against Margery’s conception 
of a prompt and well deserved judgment. He was 
silent a moment, then went back to something else. 

“ So — so you think you hadn’t ought ha’ gone 
into the blackberry patch at all? ” 

“ Why, o’ course I think so. I know so. Wasn’t 
they a sign up not to? Why, takin’ blackberries 
when they’s a sign up ain’t much better than down- 
right stealin’ ! ” 

“ H’m,” Willie Jones murmured with interest. 
Then after a pause, he said: “Now, Margery, lis- 
ten here; if you feel as bad about it as all that I tell 
you what I’ll do — I’ll take your share of blame for 
the berries. I’ll tell everybody that I picked ’em all. 
That’s fair, ain’t it? ” 

Margery turned heavy eyes on her companion and, 
sick as she was, saw through his little scheme at 


A QUESTION IN LADIES’ RIGHTS 169 

once. He was offering her a chance to give up her 
share of tainted profits. 

“ Thank you, Willie, thank you very much, but I 
guess I’ll just tell the truth about the berries. 
’Twouldn’t be fair to you if I didn’t.” 

Willie protested that It would be all right, but 
Margery was firm. 

“ No, Willie, I did pick half o’ them, that’s all 
they is about It, and you mustn’t pretend I didn’t. 
. . . Oh, oh, I wonder do I look as sick as I 

feel?” 

Willie scanned her colorless face and, under the 
delusion that sick folk desire to look as nearly well 
as possible, said, “ No, you’re lookin’ all right.” 
The expression of Indignant protest which his cheer- 
ful remark excited, showed him his mistake and he 
added, rather lamely, “ You do look kind o’ thin, 
though.” 

“Thin!” Margery snorted. “Why, Willie 
Jones, If you was one-half as sick as I am this minute, 
i why you — you’d be dead long ago I O — oh ! My 
; head, and my stummick, and my finger, tool But 
my finger ain’t as bad now as my head and my 
stummick. Oh, I wish Effie was here ! ” 

“Effie?” 

“ Yes, Effie. She’d have me well In two minutes.” 

“ Well, do you — do you think we’ll find Effie 
when we get home ? ” 

‘ “Why not?” 

“ Well, don’t you know what she said when we 
started out? Don’t you know she said she was goln’ 
to her brother’s house because we called her a hired 
girl?” 

Margery had forgotten for the moment and now, 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


170 

at this sudden reminder, she was so overcome that ^ 
she had to sit down for a few moments and rest on , 
the curbstone. \ 

“ Oh,” she groaned, “ you don’t think she really . 
meant it, do you, Willie? What’ll I do if she ain’t ] 
there? They ain’t no one else knows how to make 
me thr’up like Effie! She always does it for me. 
Why I — I’ll just die, I know I will if she ain’t 
there I ” 

“ Well, even if she is there, I don’t think she’ll do 
anything for you this time. She’s pretty mad at both 
of us.” 

“ Willie Jones,” Margery said, with sudden de- 
termination; “you got to do something. You just 
^ot to! ” 

“What?” 

“ You got to apologize to Effie for callin’ her a 
hired girl.” 

“Well, ain’t she a hired girl?” Willie pro- 
tested. 

’Twas the same question Margery had asked her- 
self earlier in the day. Now, however, she was 
ready to answer it differently. 

“ No,” she said, firmly, “ she’s not a hired girl. 
She stays with us because she loves us and wants to 
take care of us. Once a lady sneaked in and tried 
to get Effie away from us and do you know what 
Effie did? She chased the lady out o’ the yard! So 
you see she’s our true friend and just like one of the 
family, too. Now you ain’t friends with a person 
you call a hired girl, are you? Effie was just right 
not to let us call her that. Why, do you know, Wil- 
lie Jones,” Margery concluded, impressively, “ I love 
Effie much better than I do some of my relations ! ” 


A QUESTION IN LADIES’ RIGHTS 17 1 

This seemed an irrefutable argument to Margery 
but Willie Jones again protested. 

“ She’s a hired girl even if you do love her.” 

“She ain’t, I say I” roared Margery. “And, 
Willie Jones, you stop arguin’ ! You’re makin’ me 
sicker ! Just see how my head wobbles I ” She wob- 
bled it shakily a moment to show, and then de- 
manded, sharply: “ Now, then, Willie Jones, is Effie 
a hired girl or ain’t she? ” 

Many a man before Willie Jones has been forced 
to make a choice between facts and a lady’s increas- 
ing illness on the one hand, and fancy and her smiles 
on the other. Like most of his kind Willie Jones 
had not the moral courage to face the lady’s increas- 
ing illness. 

“ Well, if you say she ain’t a hired girl, I guess 
she ain’t. You ought to know.” 

“ And will you apologize to her for your mis- 
take?” 

“ Why, yes, if you want me to.” 

“ Well, I do want you to. So come on. I’m 
nearly dead now and I just tell you I can’t stand it 
much longer.” 

When they reached the kitchen, they found Effie 
with nose atilt and eyes suspiciously red. At sight 
of them she burst out into a loud and cheerful 
strain : 


“Wait till the clouds roll by, Nellie, 

Wait till the clouds roll by ** 

“ Effie,” Margery began. Effie didn’t hear, so 
Margery had to try again. “ Effie.” 

“ Oh,” remarked Effie, stopping her song and 
looking at them, as it were, for the first time. Then 


172 THE YOUNG IDEA 

she asked, in her haughtiest tone, “ Is it me yir 
talkin’ to? ” 

“ Willie Jones wants to say something to you, 
Effie.” 

Margery gave Willie a push and he began, 
bravely : “ Say, Effie, I’m awful sorry I called you 
that. But it wasn’t my fault, honest it wasn’t, be- 
cause, don’t you know, I thought you was. But 
Margery says you ain’t. She says you’re one of the 
fambly.” 

“ Did she honest? ” cried Effie, eagerly, her face 
lighting up. 

“ Sure she did, Effie. Why do you know, Effie, 
she says she loves you better than she does any of her 
real relations ! ” When you undertake to do a thing, 
it’s a pleasure to do it properly. 

“No I” cried Effie, incredulously. 

“ Cross my heart ! ” vowed Willie Jones, suiting 
action to word. 

“ Oh, you darlint ! ” Effie cried, opening her arms 
to gather in her repentant child. Then she stopped 
in concern. “ What’s ailin’ yir finger? ” 

“ Stung,” Margery quavered. “ But don’t mind 
that, Effie. It don’t hurt much now. It’s my stum- 
mick! Ugh! Ugh! I’m just dyin’ to thr’up! 
Please get the hot water and things, quick! ” 

“ An’ are you feelin’ sick, you poor lamb,” Effie 
crooned, compassionately, as she rushed about mak- 
ing preparations. “Now, dearie — ” 

“ Effie, make Willie Jones go out first.” 

“ Whoop ! ” shouted Effie, turning upon Willie 
Jones with brandished arms. 

“ Wait, Effie, wait a minute! Tell him when his 


A QUESTION IN LADIES’ RIGHTS 173 

mother pays him, he can bring over my nickel and if 
Fm not here he can give it to you.” 

“Do you hear that, now?” EfEe demanded, 
roughly, pushing Willie out by the shoulder and 
closing the door. 

“ Now, then, darlint, just drink this down. That’s 
right. Drink it all. Now swally yir little hand. 
That’s right. That’s right. Oh, now yir goin’ 
a-feel fine! Now ye’ll soon be a well girl. Once 
again. That’s right. That’s right. . . . It’s 

just a good thing to get rid of all that nasty old stuff, 
ain’t it now. . . .” 

When this part of Margery’s illness was attended 
to, Effie bathed her finger, extracted the sting and, in 
a short time, had her feeling delightfully convales- 
cent. 

“ And Effie,” Margery began, coaxingly, in that 
moment of sweet intimacy between nurse and patient 
when relief has come, “ You’re never going to Tom 
McGinniss’s house to live, are you?” 

“Tom McGinniss’s house!” snorted Effie, out- 
raged and indignant at the mere suggestion. 
“ Well, I should say not ! Who’s been puttin’ such 
ideas into your head? Why, those McGinniss kids, 
even if they are my own flesh and blood, are a set of 
young ruffians ! And Tom’s wife ! Whew ! Would 
you believe it, she’s tryin’ to break into society! 
And the things I know about her! No, siree! Me 
and Maggie McGinniss couldn’t live twenty-four 
hours under the same roof! Don’t you ever insult 
me again by suggestin’ such a thing ! . . . And 

now, darlint, I think ’twill be just as well if we go to 
bed and take a little rest.” 


174 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


After she had punched the pillow and smoothed 
the sheet and had been assured several times that 
the patient was feeling just lovely, honest she was, 
Effie lingered a moment uncertainly. 

“ And darlint dear,” she began, half shyly, “ you 
ain’t never again goin’ a-let anyone call your poor 
old Effie that ugly name, are you now? It’s a turri- 
ble thing to bunch a decent, hardworkin’ girl with a 
set o’ tramps like them neighborhood hired girls. I 
just tell you a girl has to be mighty careful nowadays 
what she lets folks call her. Even if she’s a perfect 
lady they’re only too quick to take advantage of 
her. These here men and boys especially.” 

‘‘ You just bet they are I ” Margery agreed heart- 
ily. “They’re always tryin’ to get the best of us I 
But just let me tell you one thing : You needn’t think 
I’m not goin’ a-get that nickel, ’cause I am I ” 








VII 


THE ORPHLING 

I have no father here below 

No mother kind to wipe my tears; 

These tender names I never know 

To soothe my grief and quell my fears, 

— The Orphan^ s Prayer, 

THE ONE TIME IN THIS VERACIOUS NARRATIVE 
WHEN THE YOUNG BLAIRS AND THEIR NEIGH- 
BOR, WILLIE JONES, APPEAR AS LONG-SUFFERING 
ANGELS 

A ND so,” the Blair mother concluded, 
/\ one day, at the end of a long family con- 
jL ference, “ we told poor little Harold 

that he could go to Aunt Ada’s or come here and he 
has chosen us. He’ll arrive in a few days and I 
want you all to remember that he’s a poor orphan 
now without any mother to love him and pet him. 
We must all be very kind and gentle to him so’s he 
won’t grieve.” 

“ Is he going to live with us forever? ” Margery 
asked. 

“ Yes, if he’s happy here.” 

“Where’s he going to sleep?” Henry demanded 
suddenly. 

“ With you, Henry.” 

12 


177 


178 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


“ Aw, shucks I ” 

“Henry! ” His mother’s tone was reproachful. 

“ Well, I don’t like kids a-kickin’ around in my 
bed,” Henry protested. 

“ Henry, do you think that’s a kind way to refer 
to your poor little orphan cousin?” 

Henry had nothing more to say and Margery 
ventured the question: 

“Will he always be cryin’?” 

“ That,” her mother answered diplomatically, 
“ will depend on whether we’re kind to him.” 

“ What do you think about this orphling? ” Mar- 
gery later asked Effie. 

“What orphling?” 

“ Don’t you know ? Cousin Harold. He’s corn- 
in’ to live with us.” 

“ Land sakes 1 ” Effie cried, dropping her hands 
in amazement. “ First I hear of it I They ain’t 
said nuthin’ to me! Are you sure? ” 

Yes, Margery was sure. 

“ Well, I don’t know what your dad’s thinkin’ 
about ! Ain’t we got enough orphlings of our own ? 
Speakin’ for myself I’ve got all I can do taking care 
of our own four. Besides,” concluded Effie, gloom- 
ily, “ I never yet seen an orphling brought into a fam- 
ily that he didn’t make trouble.” 

The twins alone persisted in what might be called 
the sentimental view, reproaching Henry severely 
for not being glad of the chance to share his bed with 
his poor little cousin, and imploring Margery to re- 
member that she, too, might one day be an orphan 
dependent on the bounty of unfriendly relatives. 
Not that Margery and Henry were already un- 
friendly. It was merely that they two had good 


THE ORPHLING 


179 


reason to suspend judgment and await the newcom- 
er’s arrival before declaring themselves. If he 
proved undesirable by day, Margery would have to 
bear the brunt of his society for he was about her 
age; if undesirable by night, Henry alone would 
suffer. 

“ Of course the poor little fellow doesn’t kick I ” 
the Blair mother and the twins insisted over and over 
again. But Henry stoutly refused to accept cousin- 
ship and orphanhood as a guarantee against kicking. 
Only time would show whether or not he kicked and 
Henry, shaking his head gloomily, waited. 

Harold came and disappointed all expectations. 
Margery and Henry had not conjured up as com- 
plete nor as touching a portrait as the twins, but they 
had looked forward to some little weeping at least 
the first day. And there wasn’t even one tiny tear- 
drop nor the faintest of faint snuffles, bravely sup- 
pressed, to be sure, but enough to indicate the bleed- 
ing heart beneath. No. From the start Harold 
proved a boisterous laugher, laughing in season and 
out of season, laughing at anything or nothing, treat- 
ing everybody and everything as a huge joke created 
and exhibited for his own special amusement. 

“Awful funny, ain’t it?” Henry had muttered, 
savagely, before the orphan had been in the house 
half a day. And Harold, catching sight of Henry’s 
face, had shouted in glee: 

“ Ho, ho, ho ! Look at Cousin Henry ! Henry 
is mad and I am glad! Ho, ho, ho! ” 

His merriment took the unpleasant form of ex- 
plosive hos. It was “ Ho, ho, ho! ” every moment 
of the day until Effie was soon banging doors for a 
change of sound. 


i8o THE YOUNG IDEA 

Before the first day was over, Margery and Henry 
were listening to his loud pleasantries with serious, 
unsmiling faces. The twins smiled on awhile longer 
but they, too, became grave when Harold chanced 
to direct his wit against their dear friend, Gladys 
Bailey. Gladys had made an early call in order to 
inspect the poor orphan of whom the twins had talked 
so feelingly. In honor of the occasion Gladys had 
put on her Sunday hat, her fan chain, and her chate- 
laine bag. In return for this, she was no sooner in- 
side the Blair yard than a big, fat, puffy, blond boy, 
pointing his finger at her, went off into a derisive : 

“ Ho, ho, ho I Look at her ! She thinks she’s 
pretty, don’t she ? Ho, ho, ho I ” 

As Gladys herself said, she had never been treated 
like that in her life before. She didn’t blame the 
twins; of course it wasn’t their fault; but they could 
see for themselves that it would be impossible for her 
to stay longer now, or, for that matter, ever again 
to call on them so long as their cousin remained. 
Of course she would be glad to see the twins at her 
own home whenever they might wish to call, and 
Henry and even Margery. But she would have to 
beg them not to ask her to receive their cousin. Af- 
ter which Gladys Bailey, Sunday hat, fan chain, chat- 
elaine bag and all, walked out the front gate, slowly, 
mincingly, to be followed up the street by a roaring, 
unmannerly : 

‘‘Ho, ho, ho! Look at her! Tryin’ to walk 
like a lady ! Ho, ho, ho ! ” 

Willie Jones fared scarcely better. Upon the oc- 
casion of his introduction to the orphan, that young 
gentleman broke out into a highly amused: 

“ Ho, ho, ho ! Look at that little shrimp ! 


THE ORPHLING 


i8i 


What does he think he is? I suppose he thinks he’s 
Margery’s fella! ” 

The twins were really shocked at the use 
of so common and vulgar an expression, while Wil- 
lie Jones and Margery, passing over the insult 
directed at Willie’s personal appearance — what 
if Willie Jones wasn’t as big for his age as the or- 
phan ? — were justly furious at an insinuation both 
stupid and untrue. Anyone who knew anything 
about them understood that their alliance was based 
purely and simply upon motives of common 
protection. Alone and unaided neither of them 
could have kept a footing in the little so- 
cial world in which it had pleased Providence to 
place them. Uniting their forces, they were able not 
only to hold their own but, occasionally, even to 
shake the serenity of that neighborhood tyrant, 
Gladys Bailey. It is true they had become good 
friends: naturally; close association makes for ex- 
tremes, either for warm friendship or for bitter en- 
mity, and with them it had been for friendship. 
But as for anything of a sentimental nature! At 
so scandalous, so monstrous an accusation, Willie 
Jones’s face grew dark and, clenching his fists, he 
stepped promptly up to the orphan and said: 

“ Say, Mister Harold, do you know if you wasn’t 
an orphling I’d smash you ! ” 

“ But I am an orphling! ” Harold shouted back 
in glee. “ And I’m glad I am I I wouldn’t be 
nuthin’ else! You can’t touch me! Nobody can! 
’Cause why? ’Cause I’m an orphling! Ho, ho, 
ho! Don’t you wish you was all orphlings, too?” 

His cousins and Willie Jones looked at him 
astounded. Among themselves they had up to that 


i 82 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


time been referring to him as the “ orphling,” but 
never in his hearing as they had not wished to remind 
him of his misfortune. Misfortune, indeed! Ap- 
parently ’twas his fortune! So thereafter they had 
no compunction in using the word at all times and 
before long were calling him Orf. 

For each member of the family Harold soon had 
some particular attention peculiarly offensive to that 
member though to the world at large — that is to 
say, the grown-up powers — it always seemed innoc- 
uous enough. As a result, wherever he went, what- 
ever he did, trouble arose. In the investigations 
that followed he always came out, at least in his 
Aunt’s estimation, blameless and injured. From the 
start the Blair father looked at his little nephew 
with eyes in which a suspicious doubt became at last 
a certainty, but the Blair mother continued to accept 
unquestioningly Harold’s orphanhood as a warrant 
for all things sweet, gentle and oppressed. The 
motherless orphan needed a champion and the Blair 
mother felt herself selected by heaven to this post. 
So, morning, noon, and night, she strove by command 
and entreaty to make Henry less impatient with his 
poor little cousin, to make Margery more friendly, 
to have the twins infuse into their manner a little 
warmth and enthusiasm. However, against the 
growing antagonism of those days she found herself 
more and more helpless. Her own children per- 
sisted in being stubborn and unreasonable and the 
rest of the neighborhood, following their lead, were 
soon treating Harold in a manner positively savage. 
Even Efiie, who as a grown-up should have used her 
own judgment instead of being influenced by the 


THE ORPHLING 


183 

I young Blairs, early entered the conspiracy against 
j the orphan and the Blair mother was obliged to give 
; her more than one sharp reproof. 

! To understand the true significance of the feud 
that soon raged between Effie and the orphan, it is 
necessary to chronicle that Effie McGinniss had one 
weakness, one foible, which in her case amounted al- 
most to a passion and which, up to the advent of Har- 
! old, had always been accepted and respected by 
! every member of the family. Her spirit simply rev- 
elled in a big generous supply of clean fresh tea tow- 
els. She loved to wash them out, she loved to put 
them in the sun to dry, and above all else she loved 
to gather them in in the late afternoon when the 
sun had left them stiff and white and clean o’ smell. 
Effie’s place for drying her tea towels was the cistern 
box. As the cistern water was used only on wash- 
days, for six days a week Effie had undisputed pos- 
session of the cistern box. It was her domain and a 
young Blair, when for any reason he wanted cistern 
water, would never think of laying profane hands 
on those precious towels but would call out coaxingly, 
“ Say, Effie, won’t you please take your old towels 
away for a minute?” If Effie deemed the request 
justified she would do so. Otherwise the young Blair 
would have to seek water elsewhere. This as a mat- 
ter of course. It had always been so. That is, un- 
til Harold came. Then there was trouble for that 
enterprising youth did not long overlook the possi- 
bilities of the cistern box. 

The first time he wanted cistern water, he took it, 

, clearing his way of tea towels as though they had 
\ been so many dry leaves. Later, to Effie’s dismayed 


184 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


exclamation, “ Who’s been at my tea towels? ” he had 
the impudent answer ready: “Why do you leave 
your old tea towels in everyone’s road? ” 

“ They ain’t in everyone’s road ! ” Effie protested, 
angrily. “ They ain’t in no one’s road. That cis- 
tern box is their place, and just let me tell you, young 
man, if I ketch you touchin’ ’em again I’ll make it hot 
for you ! ” 

Harold proceeded to touch them many times and 
in most ungentle ways. Effie was long in catching 
him but at last the moment came that gloriously jus- 
tified her oft repeated prophecy, “ Just you wait, me 
lad!” 

On this particular day of judgment, Effie had 
sought the cool of the grape arbor and was sitting 
there quietly stringing beans when, through a chink 
of grape leaves, she saw the orphan slip softly around 
the house. He didn’t look toward the arbor but 
peered carefully into the kitchen window. Satisfied 
that no one, that is to say that Effie McGinniss 
wasn’t there, he pranced joyfully over to the 
cistern and, if Effie could believe her own eyes, 
began to wipe the mud off his shoes with one of 
her tea towels! It was with a struggle that 
Effie restrained a bloodcurdling yell. To see one 
of her tea towels put to such use and remain silent 
was like — was like, well, it was like seeing a baby 
murdered and raising no outcry. But while some 
evils shriek aloud for redress here was one that whis- 
pered, “ Softly, Effie, softly I ” Obeying the whis- 
per, Effie laid the pan of string beans softly down 
and stepped softly over the grass toward the cistern. 
She reached out softly for the orphan’s collar and got 
him with a clutch that was a clutch of iron. 


THE ORPHLING 185 

“ You — you let me be I ” he screamed, before he 
knew from actual sight who had him. 

“ I’ll let you be when I’m done with you,” Effie 
promised him, grimly, giving him a shake that rat- 
tled his teeth and showed him a sudden vision of 
jumbled stars. “ You — you sneak of an orphling! 
I’ve caught you this time ! ” 

“Murder! She’s murderin’ me! Aunt Kate! 
Help ! ” 

The orphan raised so brave an outcry that in two 
seconds his cousins came panting around the house 
and Willie Jones popped an excited head over the 
fence. ’Twas the very audience Effie desired. 

“ I’ve caught him ! ” she cried. “ I’ve caught him 
at last ! Here he was usin’ me nice clean tea towels 
to wipe the mud off his boots! Oh, you miserable 
little sneak of an orphling. I’ve got you this time and 
I’m goin’ a-teach you a lesson! ” 

“ You don’t dast touch me! ” the orphan screamed. 
“ If you do I’ll tell Aunt Kate on you ! ” 

“I don’t dast touch you, eh?” Effie repeated. 
“ We’ll see about that. I think I seen a nice barrel 
stave out in the stable behind the lawn-mower. Like 
a good lad, Henry, run out and get it for me.” 

Henry, who already had a long score with the or- 
phan on his own account, on what might be called his 
night account, ran willingly enough. 

“ Now ! ” said Effie, taking a long breath. 

Harold raised fresh howls and squirmed and kicked 
and bit. But Effie was able for him. With one 
hand she held him in position, with the other she 
deftly turned down his knickerbockers. Effie Mc- 
Ginniss, you see, was not a woman to hesitate through 
any sense of false modesty. Then, when prepara- 


i86 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


tions were complete, she lifted up the barrel stave | 
and lay to in the good old fashioned way on the good ’ 
old fashioned place. Whereupon Harold gave up 
the effort of useless struggles and devoted all his 
strength to crying for help. His howls were some- 
thing dreadful to hear but the young Blairs and Wil- 
lie Jones listened to them unmoved. They stood 
about in a semi-circle, quiet and interested, absorbed, 
as it were, in viewing some skillful operation. It 
was not a lightning operation, but even so their in- 
terest never flagged. They didn’t laugh, they 
didn’t smile, they made no sign whatever of gloating 
over the orphan’s punishment. To them he was 
merely gettin’ what was cornin’ to him for his stu- 
pid, unnecessary abuse of Effie and her tea towels. 
Yes, he was getting it this time and he continued to 
get it until of a sudden the Blair mother appeared. 

“ Aunt Kate ! She — she — she’s killin’ me ! ” 
the orphan screamed. 

“ Effie ! ” the Blair mother cried, and then again, 
Effie/ 

After one good final whack, Effie rested, and the 
orphan, struggling away from her clutches, sought 
safety in his Aunt’s skirts. 

“ She’s been beatin’ me for two hours. Aunt Kate ! 
Honest she has! She — she — she’s tryin’ to kill 
me I ” 

“Effie I What does this mean?” 

“What does this mean. Mis’ Blair? Well, it 
means that that there orphling is goin’ a-keep his 
hands off my tea towels! And his feet, too! If 
you’d believe it I caught him a-wipin’ his muddy 
boots on my fresh clean tea towels ! ” 

“I — I didn’t want to track the mud in the 


THE ORPHLING 187 

house,” Harold wailed. “ And I seen some old 
rags on the cistern — ” 

“ Old rags ! ” snorted Effie, making a pounce in 
the orphan’s direction that sent him further into his 
Aunt’s skirts and made that lady raise an angry, com- 
manding hand. 

“ Be quiet, Effie ! Not another word I I’m more 
surprised at your conduct than I can tell you ! I 
shall certainly speak to Mr. Blair when he comes 
home. In the meantime I forbid you ever again to 
touch Harold. Hereafter, if there’s any trouble, 
you come to me.” 

“ Do you mean,” cried the astonished Effie, “ if 
he goes ruinatin’ of my tea towels I can’t — ” 

“ You’re to do nothing no matter what he does! 
i Do you understand?” The Blair mother started 
I into the house leading Harold by the hand, then 
f turned to say, “ Just look at his poor little body all 
j red and angry I ” 

“ Yes,” wailed the orphan, “ and it feels like they’s 
i some splinters, too 1 ” 

! “ Well, if there are I ” the Blair mother an- 

nounced, with one last significant look at Effie. 
i “Did you ever!” gasped Effie, addressing her 
j faithful audience. “ If that don’t beat the Dutch! ” 
j After having conscientiously spanked the young 
I Blairs for upwards of twelve years, at this late date 
I to be ordered under no provocation to lay hands on 
I a miserable little sneak of an orphling! It was too 
much for Effie. Her head swam and her face grew 
red as Harold’s glowing body. What! To think 
— For a moment Effie was ready to weep with 
remorse that she had ever laid violent hands on any 
of those young angels standing there before her. 


i88 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


The next instant she snatched Margery up with the 
wild intention of spanking her then and there just 
to see if she were going to be forbidden to touch her 
likewise. 

But Margery, unconscious of what was to come, 
broke the spell by throwing her arms about Effie’s 
neck and whispering, sympathetically: “Don’t you 
care, Effie! Even if you can’t do nuthin’ to him I 
bet he won’t touch any of your towels again ! ” 

“Oh, you darlinti” Effie cried, changing hfer 
threatening hold into a bearish hug. 

Margery was right. Though Harold played 
various other little jokes on Effie, he never again 
touched her tea towels. The matter of the spanking 
was not pushed. The Blair father, presumably, 
proved unresponsive and it is quite likely that he 
even succeeded in dampening somewhat his wife’s en- 
thusiasm by the decided brusqueness with which he 
was now wont to treat the whole subject of the or- 
phan and his troubles. At any rate, Effie was not 
further reproved, and Harold, after gazing expect- 
antly at his uncle during one whole dinner and the 
following breakfast, at last gave up hope in this di- 
rection and devoted himself wholesouled to some lit- 
tle dealings which he was having with Henry and 
which at this moment promised a bit of pleasant ex- 
citement. 

To Henry these same dealings, the whole series 
of them from the start, had been one long and fe- 
vered nightmare. Considering the very marked 
difference in their ages, Henry was simply at a loss 
to know why it was he could not settle Harold as he 
could have settled any other small boy of Harold’s 
size in one night or two at most. Willie Jones, for 


THE ORPHLING . 189 

instance. But there was an unending everlasting- 
ness about Harold’s ingenuity for unpleasant little 
pleasantries that finally made Henry wonder whether 
I he was ever again to be allowed the enjoyment of a 
quiet, peaceful night. Yet his first fear of the or- 
jphan proved unfounded. Harold did not kick in 
•his sleep. He slept soundly and heavily with his 
I mouth open, but he did not kick. So for the first 
jdays the Blair mother and the twins were able to 
chorus triumphantly: “There! Didn’t we tell you 
so!” 

The explanation of their triumph gave Harold 
his first idea. He’d pretend to be asleep and then 
jgive Cousin Henry a few little touches. It would 
be such a joke on Cousin Henry after the way he had 
expected Harold to kick. But the joke turned sud- 
Idenly the other way when Cousin Henry kicked back 
and kicked so viciously that he shot the poor orphan 
clear out of bed, squash, bang, on the floor. 

“ Why — why. Cousin Henry ! ” Harold quav- 
ered, with tears of reproach in his voice, “I — I 
didn’t know I kicked you. I was asleep, honest I 
was.” 

“ So am I asleep,” Henry answered, grimly, con- 
tinuing that little fiction by keeping his eyes closed 
and breathing heavily. “ You see, Harold,” the 
sleeper went on, “ I’ve trained myself when I’m 
asleep to kick if anyone touches me.” 

The orphan crawled silently back into bed and 
Henry, in all innocence, supposed the struggle over. 
He even went so far as to say to himself, “ Just 
show a kid like him that you mean business and 
he’ll stop his foolin’ quick enough.” 

Two weeks later, nay, one week later Henry’s 


190 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


self-congratulations would not have been so glibly 
offered, for by that time the orphan had hit upon 
two harmless little diversions that kept Henry 
writhing in helpless fury. One was talking, the 
other eating in bed. Once lights were out and sen- 
sible folk were composing themselves for sleep, the 
orphan would grow talkative and seek to engage his 
cousin in conversation on any and every subject 
imaginable. 

“ Say, Cousin Henry, did you see the vegetable 
man this morning when he brought in the potatoes? 
He had a big cut across his face. Do you suppose 
he was in a fight? ” 

“ I don’t know and I don’t care,” Henry would 
growl. “ I’m sleepy.” 

“ But really, Cousin Henry, do you suppose he 
was in a fight? Effie seen him, too, ’cause I asked 
her and she says — ” 

“ Will you shut up ! ” Henry would roar. “ Do 
you hear me? I want to go to sleep I ” 

“ Well, you needn’t get so mad about it. Cousin 
Henry. I was only tellin’ you that Effie says — ” 

“ You dashity dashed orphling,” — Henry’s words 
were not dashity dashed but they should have been 
— “ if you don’t shut up I’ll stuff the piller into your 
mouth ! ” 

“ I don’t know what Aunt Kate would say if she 
heard your langwedge. Cousin Henry.” 

With some such parting shot as this the orphan 
would turn over and at once fall quietly, that is to 
say, heavily, open-mouthedly asleep, leaving his big 
cousin to toss about awhile longer in wakeful frenzy. 

When to his talking he added eating, Henry was 
driven well-nigh frantic. First it was crackers. 


THE ORPHLING 


191 

I “Wouldn’t you like a cracker, Cousin Henry?” 
j “No! Ain’t I had my dinner? Now I want to 
I go to sleep.” 

' “ I thought mebbe you’d like just one, Cousin 

Henry.” 

j “ No, blank you 1 ” (That is, Henry should have 
j said blank you.) “I — want — to — go — to — 
sleep 1 And if you don’t shut up, I — I’ll choke 
you I ” 

“ Well, if you’re sleepy. Cousin Henry, I won’t 
say nuthin’ more.” Whereupon, instead of talking, 
i the orphan began to munch, munch, munch, and 
i swallow, swallow, swallow, making that maddening 
j sound of hard labored swallowing which a good 
' supply of dry crackers induces. 

Henry sighed and tossed and, in his growing in- 
dignation, was at last sure that he felt crumbs on the 
: sheet. Crumbs in bed! The very thought kept 
I him fidgeting for hours — at any rate it seemed 
hours. 

' The next night when Harold produced his cracker 
j ' lunch, Henry sat up with a determined air. 

|v “ You think you’re goin’ a-crumb up this bed 
I'f again, don’t you? ” 

I “ It don’t hurt your old bed if I eat a couple o’ 
crackers,” the orphan protested. 

“ Well, just let me tell you one thing. Mister 
Harold: If you start crumbin’ up this bed I’m not 
goin’ a-sleep here.” 

“Where’ll you go. Cousin Henry?” 

“ To the sofa, if I have to.” 

“ Well, of course. Cousin Henry, if you like to 
^ sleep on the sofa,” the orphan began, breaking a 
y cracker into his mouth. 


192 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


So Henry was actually allowed to make a martyr : 
of himself, in his own room, mind you, and, having 
gone over to the sofa, had perforce to remain there 
all night. After this experience he realized that the 
orphan’s character was even baser than he had sup- * 
posed. It was gradually being borne in on Henry ^ 
that in spite of years and size he was no match for •; 
the orphan. The orphan employed a mode of war- 
fare of which he understood practically nothing. | 
The orphan’s feints, his quick advances, his sudden k 
retreats quite bewildered Henry. His skill, too, in J 
snatching victory from defeat was nothing less than 
amazing. Take the end of the cracker business. 
The night after the sofa night Henry took a stand • 
which he fondly hoped would be decisive. 

“ You got some more crackers, I suppose, Orf ? ” 
Yes, Cousin Henry, would you like one? ” 
“No!” Henry roared. “I wouldn’t like one, 
nor half a one, nor a bite o’ one! And what’s 
more if you want to eat any crackers in this bedroom 
you’ll have to take ’em on the sofa ! I tried the 
sofa last night so you can try it to-night.” 

“Why, Cousin Henry, if Aunt Kate — ” 

“ Well, go tell your Aunt Kate if you want to, 
and I’ll tell her a couple o’ things, too.” 

But that was not what the orphan wanted. 

“ Cousin Henry, I don’t see why you talk that 
way. If you don’t want me to eat crackers in bed, . 
why don’t you say so? I won’t do it no more, 
honest I won’t.” And with that, as meek as a 
guinea pig, he passed over a handful of crackers 
which Henry promptly fired out the window. 

“It’s on account of the crumbs, ain’t it?” the 
orphan pursued, humbly. 

J, 


THE ORPHLING 


193 


“ Yes,’’ Henry said. There was no need to dis- 
cuss the matter but he was so plainly the victor that 
he felt he had to be a little friendly. So he added, 
inanely, “ Crumbs in bed make me itchy.” 

“ I won’t forget. Cousin Henry.” 

Could it be over, Henry wondered, this teasing 
nightmare of a struggle I Had the firmness he had 
shown and so forth and so forth and so forth ! He 
had not long to wonder. The very next night the 
orphan was on hand with a non-crumby menu as 
worrisome as ever a crumby one could be. That 
dashed orphling — only Henry in his own mind 
didn’t call him dashed — could make as much noise 
snapping bites off an apple as a horse crunching an 
ear of corn. He could suck a whole Chinese or- 
chestra of discords from a big juicy peachstone and 
afterwards send shivers down your back licking his 
fingers. Yet apples and peaches ain’t crumby; you 
can’t get around that; and Henry gnashed his teeth 
and wept inwardly to think how easily he had been 
taken in. Outwardly, of course, he made no sound. 
He had committed himself on the crumbs, poor fool 
that he was, and nothing remained but to grin and 
bear the result of his own stupidity. So, night after 
night, he lay, stiff and quiet, on the far edge of the 
bed, making no movement, making no complaint, 
not even allowing himself the comfort of an occa- 
sional sigh. 

His sturdy endurance was unexpectedly rewarded, 
for the orphan, whose joy was never quite complete 
unless he could witness his victim writhe, finally 
tired of crunching apples and sucking peachstones 
that excited no response and cast about for some 
means of introducing crumbs or their equivalent 


194 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


without breaking the accepted prohibition. At 
length he hit upon an appeal to his Aunt. 

“ Aunt Kate, I wish you’d let me have a piece of 
bread and sugar every night before I go to sleep. 
My mother always did.” 

“Don’t you get enough to eat at dinner?” his 
Aunt asked. 

“ ’Tain’t that, Aunt Kate. My mother always 
gave it to me to make me sleep better. Then mebbe 
I wouldn’t disturb Henry.” 

“ Do you disturb Henry? ” 

“ Well, he doesn’t say much. Aunt Kate, but he’s 
pretty cross.” . 

“ I suppose,” his Aunt said, doubtfully; “ if your j 
mother always gave it to you — ” 

“ Will you tell Effie to fix it for me on a saucer? ” 

“ Yes,” his Aunt promised. “ I’ll tell her.” 

Unfortunately for Harold, the Blair mother gave 
Effie the order during dinner. 

“What’s that?” Henry asked, pricking up his 
ears. 

“ It’s something his own mother always let him 
have,” the Blair mother explained by way of ex- 
tenuation. I 

“ Well, see here,” Henry said, bluntly; “ I’m not i 
going to stand his eating bread and sugar in my j 
bed!” ! 

“ Nesbit,” the Blair mother said to her husband, ! 

“ will you just discuss this little matter with Henry | 
and make him behave? I have to run over to Mrs. j 
Berry’s about some patterns. Come for me, please, 
at lo o’clock.” I 

“ Now, then,” said Henry to his father, after his 
mother had departed; “ I say ’tain’t fair to me to 


THE ORPHLING 


195 

have that kid go eating bread and sugar in my 
bed.” 

“ Is that where he wants to eat it? ” 

“ Ask him.” 

“ Do you want to eat it in bed, Harold? ” 

“ That — that’s where my — my mother always 
let me.” 

“You see, Father. And you know yourself how 
nice sugar feels on the sheet.” 

“ Harold,” the Blair father said, seriously, 
“ you’re not in your own bed now but sharing 
Henry’s, so you’ll have to consider Henry’s wishes. 
As Henry objects to your eating bread and sugar 
in his bed, you can’t do it. Understand me? You 
may eat it in the bedroom, if you want to, after you 
undress but before you get into bed.” 

“ We’ve smashed that little scheme,” Henry told 
himself jubilantly. Then, as usual, he found that 
he had congratulated himself too soon. 

When bedtime came, Harold carried upstairs his 
bread and sugar and he and Henry undressed. 
Henry then sat on his edge of the bed, waiting. 
Instead of eating his lunch, the orphan placed the 
saucer on the chair with his clothes and crawled into 
bed. 

“ You can put the gas out. Cousin Henry, if you 
want to.” 

“ Ain’t you goin’ a-eat? ” 

“ I don’t ezackly feel like it.” 

“ Very well,” Henry said, reaching up to the gas 
jet. “ But none o’ your tricks, now. You remem- 
ber what Father said.” 

“ Of course I remember what Uncle Nesbit said.” 

They both lay perfectly still for a while, then 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


196 

Henry heard the orphan make a, stealthy move. 
He could not believe that Harold would deliberately 
disobey his uncle and yet — By this time the or- 
phan was quietly chewing, smacking his lips dis- 
creetly, and swallowing with occasional gulps. 

“ Orf,” Henry began, angrily, “ are you — ” 
He stopped with an exclamation for, in reaching 
over, his foot ran into what seemed a whole bedful 
of gritty sugar. 

“ You little scampi ” he cried, jumping up. 

He threw the orphan bodily out of bed, then ran 
to the door. 

“ Father! ” he shouted, “ Father! Come up here, 
please. I want to show you! You told Harold 
not to eat that bread and sugar in bed, didn’t you? 
Well, just come up here and see! ” 

“ I didn’t eat no bread and sugar in bed, honest 
I didn’t. Uncle Nesbit,” the orphan wailed. “ And 
Henry threw me out o’ bed and hurt me, too.” 

‘‘ Come here, Father, give me your hand and 
feel.” 

“ I think I’ll make a light,” the Blair father said. 

He lit the gas and threw back the sheet. 

“There!” the orphan shouted in triumph. 
“Didn’t I tell you? ’Tain’t sugar at all! It’s 
only sand! There’s my bread and sugar on the 
chair! I ain’t et a bite of it! ” 

Only sand! That was all it was. Just a hand- 
ful of ordinary brown sand which the orphan had 
playfully put on the sheet. 

“ I wasn’t goin’ a-eat my bread and sugar in bed 
when you told me not to. Uncle Nesbit, but I just 
knew Henry’d think I would, and so I just thought 
I’d fool him.” To the orphan it seemed so clearly 


THE ORPHLING 197 

the victory of wit over brute force that he laughed 
happily. 

“ Father I ” Henry gasped. “ What — what do 
you think of that I Putting sand in my bed I Ain’t 
he the limit? ” 

And then the orphan discovered that his Uncle 
was threatening to side with Henry! Indeed, for 
a moment, it looked as though he were going to in- 
dulge in some dashity langwedge. Fortunately for 
the example involved he restrained himself and after 
a pause spoke quietly enough. 

“ Well, Harold, you certainly are a funny boy. 
If you’re not careful you’ll grow up into a funny 
man. You’ve had your little joke and no doubt it’s 
a great satisfaction to know that Henry was com- 
; pletely taken in. All that remains now are the 
consequences. You know you can’t have fun with- 
j out paying for it.” The Blair father suddenly 
I pointed to an old razor strop that hung on the back 
I of the door. “ See that, Harold? I used to have 
to use that on Henry sometimes when he was a 
little boy and couldn’t understand any other kind of 
argument. If Henry had ever put sand in your 
bed I should have worn that strop out on him. 
Henry may use his own judgment. It’s 10 o’clock 
so I must go for your Aunt. Good-night, Harold. 
And, Henry, put the light out when you’re through.” 

“Don’t leave me. Uncle Nesbit! I’m scared! 
Henry’ll hurt me! Uncle Nesbit! Uncle Nesbit! 
Ooch! Ugh! Ugh!” 

The door was already closed and Uncle Nesbit, 
hurrying downstairs, presumably did not hear the 
cries of his little nephew. 

Just what happened in Henry’s room that night 


198 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


the outside world never definitely knew, for Henry 
was no braggart and the orphan, afterwards, was 
uncommunicative. But ’twas something terrible 
— the outside world could judge that for itself, 
something heroic, no less, something classic. Peo- 
ple passing on the street stopped to listen and to 
wonder; Margery and the twins crept out to the 
dark hall and hugged one another in delicious ter- 
ror; and even Effie, who kept early hours and slept 
soundly, was awakened. It was she who finally 
pounded authoritatively on the door. 

“Say, you, Harold I ” she shouted, threateningly; 
“ if you don’t quit that hollerin’ I’ll come in and 
give you somethin’ to holler about ! ” 

“ Henry — Henry’s killin’ me ! ” yelled the or- 
phan. 

“ Well, you just get shet of that noise good and 
quick or I’ll come in and kill you, tool ” was Effie’s 
unfeeling rejoinder. 

Gradually the din subsided and by the time the 
elder Blairs reached home, Henry’s room like the 
rest of the house was once more silent and dark. 

For a day or two the orphan was quiet and re- 
served. Then his spirits rallied. He seemed to 
realize that, although Henry would have to be 
dropped, at least for the present, there were other 
people in the world besides Henry. This being un- 
doubtedly true, he grew happy once again and once 
again made house and yard resound with cheerful 
ho-ho-hos. 

The rest of the world, like Henry, had long 
groaned at the untiring everlastingness of the or- 
phan’s pleasantries. What was uproariously funny 
once was, to him, just as funny after numerous repe- 


THE ORPHLING 


199 


j titions. By this time no member of the family ever 
I sat down in the old, quick, careless, happy fashion, 
but bent slowly, by stages, with a cautious eye to 
the rear, prepared to catch himself in case the chair 
were dragged suddenly from under him. The 
twins got so they scarcely ever walked without scut- 
tling along sideways with their backs to the house. 
It threatened to become a fixed habit with them. 

; “ He thinks it’s awful funny,” they complained 

: bitterly to their friend, Gladys Bailey, “ to stick a 
; piece of ice down your back. In the afternoon, too, 
after you’re dressed I ” 

“Why don’t you tell your mother?” Gladys 
asked. 

“ Well, if Mother stopped him on ice,” Kath- 
erine explained, wearily, “ he’d soon find something 
worse — burrs or stickers or something. You don’t 
know Harold I The way he pesters poor little Mar- 
gery is something awful.” 

Poor little Margery! Yes, it had actually come 
to that! A common enemy had so far united the 
Blair forces that in all sincerity the twins could feel- 
ingly speak of “ poor little Margery.” And Mar- 
gery returned their affection. If anyone ever had 
good kind sisters she felt she had. And as for 
Henry — Henry was an angel ! 

It is most edifying to consider the brotherly love 
and the sisterly kindness which at this time obtained 
among the young Blairs. Their politeness to each 
other, their courtesy, was simply exquisite. They 
did not argue, they did not contradict, they never 
grew impatient, but it was always, “ Yes, thank you, 

! Henry,” or “ Please give it to me, Katherine,” or 
“ No, Mother, let Margery have it this time. I 


200 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


had it last time.” The bond of blood had never 
been so strong. They really adored one another 
and all together looked back sadly on that golden 
time before their home had been invaded by a 
stranger. They talked about it in whispers in 
groups of two or three whenever they could get off 
alone. Then they would go over the list of present 
outrages and take vast comfort in telling each other 
just to wait and the orphling would get what was 
coming to him. 

Henry’s heroic measure had gained him peace to 
a great extent; the twins had Gladys Bailey’s house 
as an occasional refuge; but Margery, poor little 
Margery, as her brother and sisters compassionately 
called her, had to endure the orphan’s society all 
day long and day after day. Margery was an easy 
victim for all the orphan had to do to make her 
miserable was stay beside her. So he stayed. 
There is no further nuisance to record, nothing 
which, after its fuse, however long, was burnt out, 
shot up like Henry’s crumbs and burst spectacu- 
larly. Nothing of that kind. What Margery had 
to endure was a day-in, day-out association which 
wore on her spirits and, figuratively speaking, made 
her tear her hair and wring her hands. 

Life would indeed have been a barren waste for 
her those days had it not been for Willie Jones. 
Willie Jones disliked Harold as much as anyone 
and with as good reason. Moreover, not being 
bound to the orphan by the tie of cousinship, he 
might very easily have left Margery to her fate 
and sought amusement for himself elsewhere. But 
Willie Jones’s ideal of friendship was higher than 
that and, having known Margery in the happy 


THE ORPHLING 


201 


days of long ago, he was not going to desert her 
now. And he had his reward in her eternal admira- 
tion for a deed — as it finally ended well, it is 
safe enough now to call it a deed of valor. Here 
is the story : 

They were all in the back yard one afternoon; 
Henry sitting in the door of his tent engaged in 
transferring his stamps to his new stamp album; 
the twins on the bench sewing for the Guild; Willie 
Jones and Margery under the cherry tree experi- 
menting with a new chimney on their brick furnace; 
and the orphan hopping about here and there teas- 
ing whom he could. 

Near the cherry tree was a mound of sand to be 
used shortly in cementing the floor of the laundry. 
The orphan at last took possession of this mound 
from which he proceeded to throw little handfuls of 
pebbles and sand now at the twins’ sewing, now at 
Margery’s furnace. 

“ Ho, ho, ho, Katherine ! That’s the time I 
fired straight.” 

“ Why in the world, Orf, can’t you be decent like 
other people!” Katherine exclaimed after getting 
up some half dozen times to shake the pebbles from 
her lap. 

“You stop that throwing, Orf!” Willie Jones 
called out, after he and Margery had stood the an- 
noyance for some time. 

“ Ho, ho, ho ! What’ll you do if I don’t? ” 

“ I’ll show you what! ” Willie Jones promised. 

“ You better be careful, Orf,” Henry remarked. 
“ Sand ain’t your lucky number.” 

“ Effle,” Margery complained a few moments 
later, as Efiie came out to the cistern with her tea 


202 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


towels, “ my hair’s all full of sand and I can’t help 
it. Harold’s throwing it all around.” 

“ Ho, ho, ho ! ” mimicked Effie, sitting down on 
the cistern for a moment’s rest. “ So yir foolin’ wid 
sand again, are you? All right. Just keep on and 
you’ll get what’s cornin’ to you.” 

“ See here, Orf,” Willie Jones exclaimed after a 
fresh assault, “ if you throw any more sand at us 
or at this furnace, I don’t care if you are an orphling, 
I’m goin’ a-do something to you ! ” 

“ Ho, ho, ho I Just listen to old Bill Jones ! ” 
Willie Jones didn’t mind his friends calling him 
Bill : in fact, he rather liked it : but to have the orphan 
address him thus familiarly always made him furi- 
ous. So, when the orphan Bill-Jonesed him again 
and then pitched another supply of sand right on 
top of the furnace, Willie Jones jumped up. He 
bounded over to the sandpile, stooped down an in- 
stant, and then let fly straight at the orphan’s open- 
mouthed, “ Ho, ho, ho I ” He caught the third ho 
with a great handful of sand and the orphan, sud- 
denly blinded and choked, reeled this way and that 
and fought the air for breath. 

“ Love o’ Mary ! ” shrieked Eflie in horror. She 
raced to the sandpile and caught the orphan just as 
he fell. Then, chunky boy that he was, she took 
him in her arms, head down, and ran with him to 
the cistern. 

The tub for waste water chanced to be half full 
and into this Eflie dipped the choking orphan, 
dipped him and dipped him again. The water 
drew away some of the sand and in a few seconds 
Nature helped on the work of restoration by turn- 
ing the orphan deathly sick. This saved him. One 


THE ORPHLING 


203 


■ wrenching convulsion quickly followed another, 

■ washing through the wall of that suffocating sand 
I and allowing the orphan once more to breathe. 

P “Glory be!” gasped Effie, fervently. 

But though the great danger was past, there still 
remained the painful cleansing of eyes and ears and 
nose — a task difficult and long owing to the con- 
1 tinned attacks of nausea which threatened never to 
5 end. 

The amount of sand the orphan disgorged was 
truly astounding. The young Blairs watched him 
in silent wonder. Why, Willie Jones must ha’ 
given him a couple o’ bushels 1 

Willie Jones himself in the first moments of the 
catastrophe had bounded over the fence. He re- 
turned, though, drawn back by that irresistible fas- 
I cination which the murderer is said to feel for the 
f place of his crime. Then again he disappeared and 
: again came back. At length when he found that 
no one was paying any attention to him, he lingered 
on, nervously awaiting the outcome and ready any 
moment to make good his escape should the orphan 
' take a turn for the worse. 

In the first interval of quiet when the orphan lay 
on the cistern box, dripping and wet, and Effie 
paused to take a long breath, Willie Jones slipped 
up to her and asked in a wee, small voice: 

“ He ain’t a-goin’ a-die, is he, Effie? ” 

Effie pounced on Willie Jones like a hawk. 

“He ain’t a-goin’ a-die, do you say? Well, just 
let me tell you it’s small thanks to you, you young 
murtherer, that he ain’t a-lyin’ there right now dead 
and laid out ! That was a young devil’s thrick and 
no mistake! Why, do you know. Mister Jones, 


204 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


’tis the easiest thing in the world to smother a per- 
son to death with a fistful of sand! ” 

The orphan stirred uneasily. “ Just you wait,” 
he quavered, “ till I tell my Aunt Kate and my 
Uncle — ” 

Weak and limp as he was Effie snatched him up 
and shook him soundly. 

“What! You young scalawag! You’ll go tellin’ 
your Aunt and your Uncle, will you? Not much 
you won’t or Effie McGinniss’ll do some tellin’, too ! 
You can bless your stars, you miserable orphling, 
that you’ve got off this easy after the way you’ve 
hectored and pestered the life out o’ everyone o’ 
us until we’d all be willin’ to shoot you on sight ! 
You’ll go blabbin’, will you? Well, just you lis- 
ten to me, young man: If you ain^t satisfied yet^ 
we^ll give it to you worse next time!^* 

The orphan gazed around in weak amazement. 
He looked from one to another of his cousins, at 
Effie, at Willie Jones, and on the faces of one and 
all he saw the same expression of determined hos- 
tility. Suddenly he realized that among them all he 
hadn’t a friend. He was alone, a stranger and an 
outcast. For the first time since he had. been among 
them he lost his confidence and his swagger. The 
sense of loneliness that swept over him brought tears 
to his eyes and a sob to his throat. 

“I — I want my mother ! ” 

“ You’re an orphling,” Effie reminded him, grimly. 
“ You ain’t got no mother.” 

“ But I — I — I want my mother! ” 

And he did want her. There was no doubt about 
that. For the first time since she had left him he 
wanted her. At that moment there was no one else 


THE ORPHLING 


205 


could comfort him. And this being so, he was 
doomed to remain uncomforted. His cousins, for 
a reason they themselves did not understand, turned 
their eyes away and Effie drew the orphan to her 
not ungently. 

“ There, there, Harold, don’t cry. Perhaps you 
better go to bed now and Pll make you some bread 
and milk. Then you’ll feel better.” 

Effie led him away while the others remained star- 
ing awkwardly at one another until the heartbroken 
wail, “I — I — I want my mother I” was finally 
swallowed up in the silence of the house. 

That evening at dinner the Blair father waited 
a moment before tasting his soup. He liked to 
have the orphan safely seated before beginning. 

‘‘Where’s Harold?” he asked. 

His own children gazed studiously at their plates 
but Effie answered glibly enough: 

I “ The orphling wasn’t feelin’ very well so I gave 
! him some bread and milk and put him to bed.” 

“ I suppose,” the Blair mother said, with a guilty 
, little laugh, “ perhaps I shouldn’t have let him have 
! that second piece of pie at lunch.” 

Time deadens grief, but the long afternoon and 
the long evening were not long enough to soothe 
the ache of loneliness that had taken possession of 
the orphan. In the dead o’ night, to be precise, at 
10 p.M. Henry slipped, barefoot, into Effie’s room 
and interrupted the snores of that vigorous sleeper. 

“ Sst! Effie! He’s a-cryin’ yet and I can’t go to 
sleep.” 

“ Huh I ” snorted Effie. Then when she had col- 
lected her wits, she grumbled: “ I don’t see why you 
have to come wakin’ me up I He ain’t my cousin.” 


2o6 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


But she was out of bed before she had finished 
speaking and a moment later was touching with com- 
forting fingers the cheeks and forehead of the griev- 
ing orphan. 

“ You must stop this cryin’, Harold,” she began, 
firmly. “ You’ll be makin’ yourself sick.” 

“ No — no — n-n-nobody loves me I ” sobbed the 
orphan. 

This was a statement Effie could not, in honesty, 
deny, but she was able to say, fervently enough: 

“ They would love you all right if only you was a 
nice boy and didn’t pester the life out o’ them.” 

“ But I didn’t mean nuthin’, Effie. Honest I ' 
didn’t. I was only playin’.” 

“Well, don’t play that way any more. It ain’t' 
a nice way to play. Other folks don’t like it.” 

“But Effie—” 

“Well?” 

“I — wish I could have my own mother just — 
just once ! ” 

“ There, there, Harold,” Effie pleaded, “ don’t 
talk that way. You’re a big boy and you must be 
brave.” 

“ But — but you ain’t brave if nobody loves you! 
My — my own mother loved me. She said she 
did.” 

“ Of course she did, poor thing, of course she 
did. I’m sure of that.” 

“ And — and — Effie, if she loved me, can’t 
somebody else?” 

“Of course they can, Harold, if only you be a ' 
nice boy and don’t pester ’em.” 

“ Effie — Effie, I don’t — I don’t believe they’ll 
ever love me here any more, do you? ” 


THE ORPHLING 


207 

There was only one answer to this question and 
Effie had not the heart to make it. 

“ I know Uncle Nesbit don’t love me and I don’t 
think Aunt Kate does like she used to. And the 
twins,” Harold continued, “ and Margery and 
Henry — ” 

He paused, hoping against hope that Henry 
would show some sign of friendliness. But Henry 
lay stretched on the farthest edge of the bed in the 
stiff counterfeit of unheeding sleep. 

“ No,” wailed the orphan anew, “ they don’t none 
o’ them love me and — and I want my own 
mother ! ” 

In vain Effie stroked his head and pressed his 
hands. His soul was calling out for stronger com- 
fort than that. Then suddenly of his own accord 
he grew quiet. 

“ Say, Effie.” 

“Well?” 

“ Do you think Aunt Ada would love me?” 

In a flash Effie McGinniss saw a happy solution 
all round. 

“Of course your Aunt Ada would love you. 
Ain’t you her own dead sister’s child? Besides, 
everybody’s kind to an orphling.” 

“ Yes,” assented Harold, slowly, “ they are at 
first. But if I tried real hard to be nice do you 
think she’d always love me ? ” 

“ I’m dead sure she would, Harold. All you 
got to do is be nice and considerate and not pester 
her nor the rest o’ them with your tricks and monkey 
shines.” 

“ They said I could go to Aunt Ada’s if I wanted 
to or to Aunt Kate’s and I chose Aunt Kate’s first. 


208 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


But Aunt Kate’ll let me go to Aunt Ada’s if I want 
to, don’t you think so, Effie? You make her let 
me, Effie. Tell her I’ll get sick if I don’t go ’cause 
I will, too.” 

“ Aunt Kate’ll let you go, I know she will,” Effie 
assured him. 

“But, Effie, I want to go right away! Don’t 
you understand? To-morrow! So will you tell her 
early to-morrow morning? Tell her I got to go! ” 

“ All right, I will, Harold. I promise. But, 
like a good boy now, close your eyes and go to sleep 
’cause you can’t go off on a train to-morrow if you 
don’t get a good sound sleep.” 

“ And, Effie,” Harold begged, “ don’t let any o’ 
them write to Aunt Ada about me. You won’t, will 
you? ’Cause then, maybe, even if I was nice, she 
wouldn’t love me.” 

“ I won’t let a soul say a word to your Aunt Ada. 
It’ll just depend on yourself whether she loves you 
or not. Now shut your eyes and I won’t leave you 
till you’re sound asleep.” 

True to her promise, the next morning before the 
second breakfast bell, Effie tapped at her mistress’s 
door, deeming it wise to deliver her message before 
the whole family was assembled down-stairs. 

“Well, Effie?” 

“ It’s about the orphling,” Effie began. 

“ Is Harold sick?” 

“ Well, he ain’t ezackly sick. Mis’ Blair, but he 
ain’t ezackly well. Yesterday he hardly et a bite 
and now he wants to go to his Aunt Ada.” 

“Why, the child must be ill, Nesbit! Shall we 
send for the doctor? ” 

“He’s not ill, is he, Effie?” 


THE ORPHLING 


209 


“ No, Mr. Blair, he ain’t ill, leastways not yet. 
But his mind seems runnin’ on the fact that he’s an 
orphling. Seems like he’s had some shock as you 
might say, which has brought it home to him. 
Just a few days back he was proud o’ being an 
orphling and I hear him myself makin’ game of our 
children because they wasn’t. But now he wants 
his mother and if he can’t have her he wants his 
Aunt Ada. And it’s my opinion,” concluded Effie, 
“ that he’ll cry hisself sick if he don’t get her.” 

“Well?” the Blair mother said when they were 
alone. “What shall we do? Shall we send him 
to Ada ? I shouldn’t like people to suppose that we 
hadn’t treated him kindly, but if he insists on want- 
ing Ada — ” 

The Blair father carefully laid down his shav- 
ing brush and, with a face full of lather, turned im- 
pressively to his wife. 

“ It seems to me the only thing to do is to send 
him to Ada. And he better go at once before he 
cries himself actually sick.” 

To which the Blair mother made the apparently 
illogical retort: 

“ Nesbit Blair, it’s simply disgraceful the dislike 
you’ve taken to that poor orphan I ” 

A few days later the Blair mother and her young- 
est daughter met their neighbors, the Joneses, in 
the fruit store. After greetings were exchanged, 
the Jones mother remarked: 

“ And your little nephew, the orphan, he has left 
you, hasn’t he? ” 

“ Yes,” the Blair mother answered, with a slow, 
mournful headshake. “ The poor child begged so 
14 


210 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


hard to go to another Aunt that we simply had to 
let him. I don’t understand it at all. At first he 
seemed perfectly happy with us and showed no sign 
whatever of grieving for his poor mother. Then 
suddenly something happened, some shock, as it 
were, which seemed to bring home to him the reali- 
zation of his loss, and nothing we could do or say 
comforted him.” 

“ Really? ” the Jones mother asked, sympathetic- 
ally. Then pointing to some fruit, she continued, 
“ Have you tried those peaches, Mrs. Blair? ” 
During this conversation, Margery and Willie 
had been regarding each other with that stony, dis- 
tant, stupid, unrecognizing stare which young people 
are accustomed to assume in the presence of their 
elders. Then, as both mothers began examining 
peaches, Willie Jones’s face crinkled up into a grin 
and he slipped over to Margery’s side. 

“ Say, Margery,” he whispered, “ I wonder what 
it was could ha’ shocked the orphling? ” 

For a second Margery grinned back. Then she 
straightened herself primly. 

“ Willie Jones,” she said, reproachfully, “ ain’t 
you ashamed o’ yourself! ” 











VIII 


A LITTLE GRAFT IN HOME MISSIONS 

Honesty^s the best policy, 

— Poor Richard^ s Almanac 

IN WHICH THE NEIGHBORHOOD TAKES UP SWEET 
CHARITY 

G ladys bailey hung her burnt leather 
handbag on her chair and began pulling her 
long silk gloves through her fingers, slowly, 

I gently, for all the world like a grown-up just home 
from shopping. Her manner was unmistakable — 
an eagerness to talk backed, as it were, with some- 
[; thing to talk about. Under the circumstances, the 
■: four young Blairs and their neighbor, who, as usual, 
was present, were willing, nay, anxious to listen. 
( But, though her audience was with her, Gladys did 
not risk a dull opening. On the contrary she chose 
f an introductory theme of universal interest. 

\ “ O my I ’’ she sighed. “ I feel so full ! I 

I have just ate candy, candy, candy, till I don’t believe 
I I could hold another piece! And you needn’t say 
I ice cream soda to me for a week 1 ” 

Katherine and Alice looked their unspeakable ad- 
j miration and moved a bit closer to their dis- 
I tinguished friend. Henry’s face grew soft with in- 
terest and for once Willie Jones and Margery were 
I silent. 

I “ Every girl I called on at the St. Albans had 

I 213 


214 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


candy: Clara Noyes had a box of marshmallows; 
Victoria Cummins had chocolates; Henrietta Stacey 
had cough drops; Anabel Hulbert had licorice. 
And ice cream sodas — well, I drank ice cream 
sodas till I thought I’d bust!^* 

The extreme elegance with which Gladys pro- 
nounced the last word brought Willie Jones to his 
senses. 

“Aw, rats! ” he said. “You can’t stuff us like 
that!” 

Everyone present knew that the us included him- 
self and Margery, scorners of old, in whose direc- 
tion Gladys now shot one withering glance before 
continuing her narrative to the others. 

“ And the money all those girls were spending 
they made themselves by giving a little play in the 
parlor of the St. Albans. Now what do you think 
of that?” 

Henry and the twins were too much impressed to 
put their thoughts into words. 

“ Yes, sir ! And, besides, each one of them was 
saving out fifty cents for a picnic at the Zoo: ten 
cents for carfare, ten cents admission, fifteen cents 
for three pony rides, five cents for candy, five cents 
for peanuts, five cents for ice cream soda. Did you 
ever hear anything like that? ” 

Henry and the twins never had. 

“ And I just said to myself all the way coming 
home, ‘ Well, even if I don’t live at the St. Albans 
any more I guess I can do things just as well as 
those girls.’ So what do you say if our little crowd 
gets up an entertainment or something out here and 
makes enough money to give us a picnic at the 
Zoo?” 


A GRAFT IN HOME MISSIONS 215 

Gladys was surprised and disappointed at the ap- 
parent coldness with which her suggestion was re- 
ceived. Didn’t they like the Zoo? Yes, of course, 
but — 

“ But what?” 

“ Well, you see,” Henry began, slowly, “ we 
don’t know how to give plays. Besides, they ain’t 
any hotel parlors out here.” 

“ Who said anything about plays and hotel par- 
lors? Of course we won’t try a play. But I guess 
we’re plenty able to do something else. I think a 
Garden Party would be splendid. What do you 
say, Alice? ” 

Alice glanced doubtfully at Katherine who was 
not able to help her. Finally she inquired : “ What 
do you do at a Garden Party, Gladys? ” 

“ Sell things — fancy work, candy, ice cream and 
cake.” 

“What is fancy work, Gladys?” 

“ Pretty things made of ribbon or embroidery.” 

“Where do you get the things to sell?” Henry 
asked this almost apologetically. 

“ From people, of course. People give them to 
you.” 

Imagine people giving you fancy work, candy, 
ice cream and cake! Gladys knew hotel life, no 
doubt, from A to Z, but she had much to learn about 
the stern realities of suburban existence. 

“ I don’t think people around here give away 
things for nothing,” Katherine remarked, gently. 

“You don’t, eh? Well, I’ll show you!” And 
Gladys called out to a passerby: “Mrs. Berry! 
Oh, Mrs. Berry ! ” 

The lady so addressed turned and paused and 


2i6 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


Gladys ran down to the gate. The others followed 
pellmell. 

“ Mrs. Berry,” Gladys began, in her brightest, 
most winsome manner, “ us children are going to 
give a Garden Party and we wonder if you’ll make 
us a cake.” 

“ Certainly, my dear, and some candy, too.” 

“ Oh, Mrs. Berry, you’re just too kind ! ” 

“ Why, I’m glad to. When’s it to be, Gladys? ” 

“ In two or three weeks, Mrs. Berry.” 

“ And what’s it for? The Fresh Air Fund? ” 

The others did not understand even the drift of 
the question, but Gladys answered at once : 

“ Either that or Home Missions. Don’t you 
think they’re both worthy charities? ” 

Mrs. Berry evidently thought they were for she 
smiled and passed on without further discussion. 

Gladys, at the head of her forces, marched slowly 
back to the porch in triumph. Yes, she was right 
and they were wrong; former experience to the con- 
trary people in the neighborhood did give away cake 
and candy for the mere asking. But — but — As 
no one else would put into words what all were think- 
ing, Willie Jones did. 

“ But, Gladys, I thought the money was going to 
be for us for a picnic at the Zoo.” 

“ It is going to be for us.” With a little motion 
of her head Gladys included herself and her three 
staunch admirers. 

“ But, Gladys,” Katherine ventured, “ you told 
Mrs. Berry it was for Home Missions.” 

“Well?” 

“ Well, I — I always thought, Gladys, that 
Home Missions meant the church.” 


A GRAFT IN HOME MISSIONS 217 

“ Now, look here, Katherine Blair: If we give a 
Garden Party weVe got to form a society first and 
4 :hat society’s got to have a name. Now, why can’t 
we take any name we want? Just because we call 
ourselves a thing doesn’t mean that we are that 
thing. My father belongs to the Elks but do you 
suppose that he’s really an elk? He ain’t; he’s a 
man. But he’s an Elk, too. And don’t you sup- 
pose we could call our society the Little Elks if we 
wanted to? But we ain’t really little elks, are we? ” 
Gladys paused to let the absurdity of this ques- 
tion sink in. Then she continued: 

Now perhaps we do want to call ourselves the 
Little Home Missionary Society. It would be a 
good name because what we want to work for is 
ourselves and that is what Home means. But when 
we’d say Little Home Missionary Society we’d mean 
our own Home Missionary Society and not the one 
belonging to the church. Don’t you see? ” 

“ But, Gladys, wouldn’t other people think it 
meant the church? ” 

“ Oh, Henry, how silly you are! Wouldn’t it be 
all the better if they did? Now, listen to me, all of 
you: It’s only a matter of names. Lots of things 
have the same names that ain’t the same. Why, 
once we had a washwoman and she was colored and 
her name was Mrs. Blair. Now don’t you suppose 
she had a right to call herself Mrs. Blair even if that 
is your mother’s name? ” 

Henry saw daylight. “ Of course she did,” he 
declared emphatically. 

‘‘ So why can’t we call ourselves a Little Home 
Missionary Society or Little Elks or anything we 
want? ” 


2i8 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


“ Gladys Is right,” Henry said. “ We can call 
ourselves anything we want.” 

With the concrete example before them of the 
two Mrs. Blairs, even the twins were at length per- 
suaded of the logic of Gladys’s contention; and 
when she added, “ And of course If we make more 
money than we want we can give some of it to the 
Fresh Air Fund,” their last scruple vanished. 

The matter of a name settled to her satisfaction, 
Gladys moved energetically to other things. 

“ If the Garden Party’s to be a success, we must 
get to work at once. We might as well decide to 
hold It here In your yard because your yard is big 
and we better ’lect officers before I start home. I’ll 
be President and Treasurer. I nominate Henry for 
Vice-President and Sec’tary. All in favor say ‘ L’ 
I nominate Katherine and Alice for Ways and 
Means Committee. All In favor say ‘ I.’ ” 

The business In hand concluded, Gladys arose to 
go. But Katherine detained her a moment. 

“ What does the Ways and Means Committee 
do?” 

“ They go around and beg the things to sell.” 

“ 0-oh. And what does the Vice-President and 
Sec’tary do?” 

“ He helps the President.” 

“And — and what does the President do?” 

Without a moment’s hesitation, Gladys answered 
tersely, “ Everything.” 

That seemed the end of all possible questions, but 
it wasn’t. Margery had another. 

“ And what does Willie Jones and me do? ” 

Gladys considered a moment. “ Well, you and 
Willie Jones can sell tickets.” 


A GRAFT IN HOME MISSIONS 


219 


“Then will we be in it?” 

“ Of course not! You’re too little! ” 

“ Aw, rats ! ” Willie Jones exploded and Mar- 
gery demanded, hotly : “ Do you think we’re going 

to sell your old tickets if we’re not in it? ” 

“ Do as you like. But if you don’t sell tickets 
you’ll have to pay admission like everybody else.” 

“How much admission?” 

“ At the St. Albans we charge twenty-five cents 
but out here I guess we better make it five cents for 
grown-ups and one cent for children.” 

“ One cent! And do you think we’ll do all that 
work for one cent! ” 

“ Do as you like,” Gladys repeated, coldly, 
“ but if you go spending all your money on admis- 
sion how’ll you feel when you have nothing left for 
the Grab bag, the Candy Box, the Lemonade Well, 
the Fancy Table, the Ice Cream and Cake? ” 

Heavens! The Grab Bag, the Candy Box, the 
Lemonade Well, the Ice Cream and Cake! With- 
out another objection, Willie and Margery quietly 
accepted the honorary post of Ticket Agents. 

Thanks to Gladys Bailey’s shrewdness and energy, 
preparations for the Garden Party were soon under 
way. The date was settled; with the help of the 
Bailey father tickets were at once printed; and a 
definite contract was made with the Ticket Agents. 

“ And when they ask you what it’s for,” Gladys 
instructed the Agents, “ show ’em a ticket. And 
then you can say, offhand-like, ‘ And if we make 
enough money we’re going to give half of it to the 
Fresh Air Fund.’ ” 

As time went by, Gladys grew very emphatic 


220 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


about the Fresh Air fund. The tickets themselves 
took care of the rest for they read: 

For the Benefit of the Little 
Home Missionary Society 

From the first the work of the Agents was badly 
hindered by Gladys herself. As President she ac- 
companied the Ways and Means Committee on its 
tours of soliciting, did all the talking, of course, 
and, when promised contributions, expressed her 
gratitude by a present of complimentary tickets. 

During the second week the Agents rebelled. 

“ How do you suppose we can sell your old 
tickets,’* Willie Jones demanded, “ when you go 
givin’ ’em away for nuthin’ to everyone that looks 
at you? ” 

“You’re not sellin’ so awful many, are you?” 
Gladys considered their case with an air of kindli- 
ness which made them both furious. “ Well, let 
me see. What would you say to this: You two just 
go on selling as many tickets as you can and I’ll see 
that you’re allowed to come in for nothing if you do 
something for us.” 

“What?” 

“ You know that lame lady that lives on Willie 
Jones’s street? Well, she lets on she likes you 
two — ” 

“ She does like us I ” Margery interrupted hotly. 

Gladys raised her eyebrows with an incredulous 
expression of, “You poor little things! Do you 
honestly think that anyone really likes you? Well, 
all right. Wc won’t discuss it.” Aloud she con- 
tinued : 


A GRAFT IN HOME MISSIONS 221 


“ The Ways and Means Committee think that 
perhaps you two better go to her and ask her to give 
us something. If you get enough out of her you 
needn’t sell your full number of tickets. Now isn’t 
that fair enough? ” 

The Agents did not take up the idea enthusiastic- 
ally. 

“What’s the matter?” Gladys asked. “If she 
likes you so awful much I wouldn’t think you’d be 
afraid to go to her. She was so kind giving Willie 
Jones those pigeons he traded and giving Margery 
that kitten she killed that I thought — ” 

“I didn’t kill it either, Gladys Bailey! It just 
died! ” 

“ Oh, it just died, did it? All right. I thought 
j you gave it fits feeding it — ” 

I “ Aw, go on ! ” Willie Jones broke in, rudely. 
“ Quit your jawin’ ! Me and Margery’ll go and see 
the Lame Lady and if she don’t give us something 
nice I’ll eat my hat.” 

“But how can we?” Margery said, when the 
[Agents were alone. “I know she’ll ask about 
; Pinkie.” 

“ And I know she’ll ask about those fantails,” 

I Willie Jones added, gloomily. “ But how could we 
get out of it? We don’t want Gladys Bailey to 
know we haven’t been to see her since that time.” 

! Margery did not have to ask, “ What time? ” for 
I she knew. 

“I tell you what, Margery: You go alone and 
I then if she asks you about Pinkie you can blame it 
all on me. And it really was my fault, you know, 
i for I was the one that started you givin’ him raw 
imeat. And if she asks you how my fantails are get- 


222 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


ting on you can tell her you don’t know ’cause you| 
don’t.” I 

It was not an arrangement that Margery ap- ] 
proved but, as none better offered, she consented. 

At the Lame Lady’s house Richard, as usual, ^ 
opened the door and in a moment Margery was sent j 
upstairs to the large sunny room where the Lame . 
Lady wrote letters and sewed and received her in- ■ 
timate friends. 

“ Margery dear, where have you been all this 
time ? I thought you had forgotten me. I’m j 
awfully glad to see you.” 

The Lame Lady held out both hands but Mar- 
gery pointedly ignored them. 

“ Good afternoon, Mrs. Strong,” she said, 
primly, standing in the doorway with mouth tightly j 
pursed and nose atilt. | 

The Lame Lady, conscious at once of having 
struck the wrong note, did her best to reply in the 
same tone. 

“ Good afternoon, Margery. Won’t you be ' 
seated?” 

Margery took the chair nearest the door. 

“ Pleasant day,” the Lame Lady remarked. 

Margery thought it was with a slight nod of her 
head which, for all social purposes, ended conver- , 
sation on that score. 

Now the Lame Lady’s sunny room was not at 
all the right place for a formal call. Take the 
chairs, for instance: The rockers were such low 
friendly creatures that they would start you hum- 
ming the moment you sat down. The straight 
chairs which were not straight at all were even 
worse for they were so soft and scudgy that you . 


A GRAFT IN HOME MISSIONS 


223 


simply had to be comfortable in them. They ex- 
pected you to lie back or to curl up and if you did 
either they seemed to love you dearly. But they 
would act abominably if you tried to sit upright on 
their forward end. They would threaten to turn 
over and a sharp edge would cut right into you — 
where you sit down, don’t you know. You might 
stand it a minute or so but after that it became 
torture. 

Margery felt a deadly paralysis creeping slowly 
up her limbs. She wondered whether she would 
ever be able to walk again. It was simply awful. 
But what could she do? Fortunately, the Lame 
Lady herself seemed to realize the incongruous ap- 
pointments of the room for she said, presently: 

“ Perhaps we better go down-stairs.” 

She led the way into the little golden room oppo- 
site the library where Margery had never been be- 
fore. It was like a room in fairyland. There was 
an odd-shaped golden piano at one end and in 
front of it a golden bench. All the other furnish- 
ings were likewise golden or set in gold: a golden 
cabinet with a picture painted on its golden door, a 
little golden table with a picture on its golden 
top, a long mirror framed in heavy gold, tiny 
chairs and sofas made of cloth of gold and stand- 
ing on spindly golden legs, and, in the fire- 
place, lovely golden andirons that in their golden 
polish reflected all their golden surroundings. The 
walls and ceilings were clouds of soft blues and 
pinks and yellows with here and there long trailing 
wreaths of exquisite flowers in which little angels 
played — rosy little boy angels, don’t you know, the 
kind they put on valentines. 


224 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


‘‘ Oh ! ” gasped Margery, but the gasp, of course, 
was a mental one. 

The Lame Lady sat stiffly down on one of the 
little golden chairs and Margery perched as stiffly 
on another. You couldn’t loll on them if you tried! 

“Would you care to remove your hat?” the 
Lame Lady asked in formal hospitality. 

“ It’s hardly worth while, thank you. I can’t 
stay long.” 

Another dreadful pause during which one of Mar- 
gery’s feet went to sleep. Ouch I Whew I Oh, 
if she could but get up and stamp I 

“ Er — what has been engaging your attention 
of late, if I may ask? ” 

“I? I been selling tickets.” Margery produced 
one in a haste which was scarcely decent. “ Here. 
Read it.” It sounded abrupt but how could she let 
such a good opening pass? 

“ Oh, I see. And — er — are you selling tick- 
ets this afternoon? ” 

“ No, no. Gladys Bailey — she said if you gave 
us enough — I mean — she said that maybe she 
would give you two complimentaries.” 

“How very kind! ” 

“ If they make more than enough money they’re 
going to give half of it to the Fresh Air Fund.” 

“ I see.” 

“So Gladys Bailey and the twins — they’re col- 
lecting things, you know, cake and candy and fancy 
work and things for the Grab Bag and Gladys Bai- 
ley said for Willie Jones and me to ask you because 
you’ve been so kind to us — ” 

Margery stopped short. She was treading on 
dangerous ground there. 


A GRAFT IN HOME MISSIONS 


225 


“ Is it Gladys Bailey and the twins who are giv- 
ing the Garden Party? ” 

“ Yes, and Henry.” 

“Aren’t you and Willie in it?” 

Margery shook her head. 

“Why not?” 

“ That old Gladys Bailey, of course.” 

The Lame Lady seemed to understand perfectly. 

“ But you’re helping them? ” 

“Yes. We got to. Gladys Bailey won’t let us 
in without paying if we don’t. At first she said we 
had to sell fifty tickets apiece. To-day she said if 
we’d ask you.” 

“Why didn’t Willie come with you?” 

Margery blushed with embarrassment as she re- 
membered why. 

“ You and he are good friends, are you not? ” 

“ Yes, Mrs. Strong.” 

Still Margery had nothing more to say, so the 
Lame Lady returned to the Garden Party. 

“ It’s to be for Home Missions, isn’t it? ” 

“ That’s what they call their society.” Margery 
spoke in the most sarcastic tones at her command 
hoping that the Lame Lady would catch the double 
meaning. But the Lame Lady did not for she 
said at once: 

“ I’ll be very glad to contribute. I’ll give a cake 
and some doilies and, if you want them, some pretty 
shells that will be the very thing for the Grab 

Gladys Bailey could certainly not kick on that! 
So without more ado Margery held out the compli- 
mentary tickets which the Lame Lady accepted most 
gracefully. 

15 


226 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


“ Thank you very much,” she said. ‘‘ Tell 
Gladys Bailey it’s very kind of her sending the 
tickets.” 

If Margery could but go now before they got back 
to general conversation! The needles and pins had 
long since stopped pricking but her foot lay a dead 
senseless weight which she felt sure would never 
support her. Yet she must make the attempt. 
Slowly and carefully she slid to the floor. The 
wretched foot promptly gave way and Margery had 
to clutch the back of the golden chair to keep from 
falling. Of course the Lame Lady had to see and 
also to forget herself so far as to cry out in the 
most intimate solicitude: 

“What’s the matter, dear? Are you sick?” 

With one haughty glance Margery put the Lame 
Lady back in her place. 

“ No, thank you. Nothing at all’s the matter. 
Only my foot’s asleep. I — I like to have my foot 
asleep ’cause then I can — I can hop! ” 

Suiting the word to the action Margery hopped 
off on one foot and got as far as the door. It was 
not, she felt, a very dignified mode of locomotion 
but anything to escape now before the Lame Lady 
could revert to the past. 

“ Wait a moment, Margery.” 

Supporting herself against the door, Margery 
turned. 

“ Will you and Willie come after the things? ” 

Indeed they would not — not if they never got 
them! But the proprieties required a refusal less 
direct than this. 

“ Why, we — we’re so busy, Mrs. Strong, both 
of us. Couldn’t you send them over by Richard? ” 


A GRAFT IN HOME MISSIONS 227 

The Lame Lady thought she could. Then she 
made a last effort to detain her guest. 

“ Wouldn’t you like a cup of tea before you go, 
Margery? ” 

Margery knew that she could have all the cream 
and sugar she wanted and that there would be a 
whole plateful of delicious little tea-cakes; but she 
dared not risk staying. It was hard but she must 

go* 

“ Thank you, Mrs. Strong, but I — I’m in a 
hurry. Please excuse me to-day.” 

The Lame Lady looked puzzled but said nothing 
more. So Margery hopped the length of the hall 
and the Lame Lady, following with her cane, opened 
the door. 

“You’ll come again, Margery, won’t you? soon, 
when you can stay longer. You haven’t heard the 
way Betty’s last kitten has been behaving.” 

At mention of Betty and her last kitten, Margery 
drew a long shuddering breath. Then in icy tones 
she bade Mrs. Strong good afternoon and the Lame 
Lady suddenly smiled as though at last she had a 
clue. 

Margery hurried off feeling cats and dogs inside. 
It was as though she had deliberately betrayed the 
best friend she ever had. She hated herself, she 
loathed herself, she wanted to get away from herself. 
Every moment she felt worse until by the time she 
reached Willie Jones’s back yard her nose was itch- 
ing and her breath was coming in explosive starts. 

“What’s the matter?” Willie asked. “Ain’t 
she goin’ a-give us anything? ” 

Margery shook her head vigorously to indicate 
that the Lame Lady had contributed handsomely. 


228 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


“ Well, then, what’s you blubberin’ about? That 
fixes us all right.” 

“ I ain’t a-blubberin’,” Margery whimpered, rub- 
bing her eyes until they were red. 

“ Did she ask about my fantails?” 

Margery shook her head sadly. 

“About Pinkie?” 

“ No.” 

“ Then what in the world’s the matter? ” 

“ That’s what’s the matter ! She was so nice ! ” 
Margery was blubbering now in good earnest and 
she didn’t care if she was. “ When she saw I didn’t 
want to talk about anything she didn’t make me. 
And she offered me a cup o’ tea and you know she’s 
always got those little round cakes. O dear, O 
dear! ” 

“Didn’t you take any?” 

“ Didn’t I take any? ” Margery glared at Wil- 
lie Jones indignantly. “ Do you think I’m a — a 
— a — cutthroat? No, Willie Jones, I didn’t take 
any and I don’t suppose I’ll ever have another 
chance and I don’t suppose she’ll ever speak to 
either of us again.” 

“ Well, anyway, Margery, you did work her all 
right.” 

This was intended as praise but Margery only 
shook her head and sighed. 

Gladys Bailey, when she heard of the Lame 
Lady’s contribution, expressed incredulous surprise 
and gave the Agents more outside work. Indeed, 
as the days went by, Margery and Willie worked 
harder and harder for there was much more to do 


A GRAFT IN HOME MISSIONS 229 

than the Little Home Missionary Society, unaided, 
could ever accomplish. 

“Won’t you just have to let ’em in — the way 
they’re working?” Katherine one day ventured to 
ask. “ Besides, for all the tables and things we’re 
going to have we’ll need at least eight people and 
there are only four in our crowd.” 

“ Don’t you think I’ve planned everything? ” 
Gladys demanded. “Listen: The fewer people 
that^ s in it the more money each of us will make. 
And won’t they be lots of people at the last mo- 
ment that’ll be glad to help for nothing? Of course 
they will. Victoria Cummins’s cousin from In- 
dianapolis is visiting her and I’ve invited them both 
to come out that afternoon and stay all night with 
me. Victoria can manage the Grab Bag and her 
cousin can take the Lemonade Well. Your mother 
is going to be here and so is mine, so when the time 
comes we can make them take the Candy Box and 
the Fancy Table. But we needn’t say anything 
about it beforehand. Then your Aunt Allie’s com- 
ing, isn’t she ? ” 

j “ If she can,” Katherine said. 

“ You and Alice’ll have the Ice Cream and 
Cake,” Gladys continued; “Henry’s going to take 
^ care of the Gate and the Money-Box; and I’m going 
to super’tend generally. Now do you see?” 

Gladys’s plans received their first blow the middle 
^ of the last week. The Garden Party was to be on 
I Saturday and on the Thursday previous Henry, by 
sad accident, touched some poison ivy. From other 
years it was known that in a matter of hours rather 
^ than days he would be bloated out, so Margery told 


230 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


Willie Jones, “ as big as a horse.” By Friday he 
was a sight and by Saturday morning such a hideous 
monster that his further appearance in public was 
simply out of the question. This left to others the 
last moment work of arranging the chairs and ta- 
bles, stringing the Japanese lanterns, and collecting . 
the long list of contributed cakes and candies. 

All morning the Bailey and the Blair mothers 
helped; Margery and Willie worked like little 
draught horses; and, through the united efforts of 
them all, the Garden Party was actually in readiness 
by afternoon. The Fancy Table, the Candy Box, 
the Lemonade Well, the Grab Bag — all were at last 
realities; the ice cream tables were scattered over the 
lawn ; the Ice Cream itself, gallons of it, was arrived 
and standing in the cool of the Blair cellar; and the 
Blair dining-room was like a bakery with its tempting 
array of cakes. 

Long before three Gladys Bailey might have 
looked on the work of her planning and seen that 
it was good. But by that time Gladys Bailey was 
too nearly worn out to pay much heed to anything. 
She confided to the twins that she felt one of her 
nervous headaches coming on and all she could hope 
was to fight it off for a few hours. To add to her 
worry one after another of the outsiders, whom she 
had expected to press into service, failed her. The 
morning’s mail brought a postal from Victoria 
Cummins which read, “ I’m awful sorry but me and 
Elizabeth got a sore throat.” Aunt Allie, not 
knowing her presence was counted on, sent her con- 
tribution by a messenger. Immediately after lunch, 
duty had called the Blair mother up-stairs and was 
going to keep her there some days anointing the 


A GRAFT IN HOME MISSIONS 231 

bloated body of her child. Even the Bailey mother 
had been summoned unexpectedly to town and 
would not be back before half-past four. The Blair 
father would be home then; probably the Bailey fa- 
ther ; and from that time on there would be any num- 
ber of grown-ups who could assist. But for help 
during the opening rush who was there to whom 
Gladys could turn? No one but Margery and Wil- 
lie and they, if they realized her extremity, would 
realize also their chance to dictate their own terms. 
To give them less time for consideration Gladys 
put off approaching them until the last moment. A 
little before three she remarked, casually: 

“ Since Henry is sick, Willie, I wish you would 
take his place at the Gate.” 

“And what shall I do?” Margery asked. 

“ I thought I would let you take care of the Grab 
Bag, the Candy Box, and the Lemonade Well.” 

Margery looked her astonishment. 

“ Why, aren’t you and the twins going to do any- 
thing? ” 

“ Fm going to take the Fancy Table and the 
twins the Ice Cream and Cake.” 

“Better not let ’em!” Margery warned. 
“ They’ll stuff themselves sick! They always do! ” 

“ Too late to change that now,” Gladys said, cut- 
ting short the twins’ denials. “ The question is. 
Will you two help ? ” 

“ If we do help,” Willie Jones began, warily, 
“ are we in it? ” 

Gladys was saved a direct reply by the arrival of 
the first guests of the afternoon who at that moment 
appeared at the front gate. As a safeguard against 
early comers the gate had been tied shut, so Gladys 


232 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


knew there was still a moment’s grace. The others, 
of course, lost their heads at once. 

“ Here they come ! Here they come ! ” the twins 
chorused, hysterically. “ Go on, Willie ! Open 
the gate! O dear, O dear! You’re awful mean! ” 
By this time the crowd in front was shaking the 
gate amid noisy cries of, “Hi, there! You let us 
in! We got tickets, we have! ” 

“Are — are we in it?” Willie faltered. Sud- 
denly it was as though the success or failure of the 
whole affair had been thrust upon him and Margery, 
and Willie was taken too unawares to think clearly. 
Besides, the clamor at the gate was growing over- 
powering. 

“We haven’t time to talk about that now, Wil- 
lie,” Gladys said, distractedly. “ We’ll see later 
when it’s over. But now, please go down to the 
Gate. I would only I have to stay up here.” 

Margery and Willie looked at each other. Surely 
if they did what she asked them now Gladys Bailey 
would not have the nerve to refuse them full mem- 
bership. Yet, on the other hand, as she had not 
actually promised it, it would be just like her to 
pretend — And at this point the din at the gate — 
“ You got to let us in ! You got to let us in ! Ain’t 
we got tickets ! ” — became so deafening that they 
both lost all reasoning power and, without another 
word, Willie rushed down to the gate and Margery 
took hurried possession of her threefold office. 

Once on duty behind Grab Bag, Candy Box and 
Lemonade Well, she had little time to speculate on 
the wiles of Gladys Bailey, for it rained immediately 
a heavy and continuous shower, almost a deluge, 
of beautiful dark brown pennies. Margery was 


A GRAFT IN HOME MISSIONS 233 

astonished at the inane, the frantic eagerness with 
which the guests of the afternoon threw away their 
money. Pulling up worthless nothings from the 
Grab Bag, they would grab and grab again with all 
a gambler’s faith in the golden possibilities of the 
next time. Then they gorged themselves with mo- 
lasses candy which might have been salt pretzels 
for the thirst, the deep, unquenchable thirst which 
it developed. Thirst as usual drove to drink — to 
drink at the Lemonade Well, of course, where, to 
complete the circle of their folly, they swallowed 
in such haste that they choked and spluttered and 
so had room for another glass and another. What 
foolish creatures they were, to be sure ! 

So the afternoon sped by. Gladys Bailey, white 
and trembling, stuck to her post until relieved by 
her mother. Then she collapsed and, a little later, 
supported by her father, dragged herself home. By 
that time there were plenty of grown-ups to help. 
The Blair father assumed Willie Jones’s duties of 
gate-keeper and cashier and Willie Jones came to 
Margery’s assistance. By five o’clock the rush was 
over and, one by one, the principals slipped off to 
dinner to fortify themselves against the evening 
when grown-ups were expected in great numbers for 
cake and ice cream. 

There were a few grown-ups still at the ice cream 
tables and, just as Willie Jones started home, an- 
other party arrived. Margery paid little heed to 
them until they began rapping sharply. Then she 
saw they were old ladies and, like them, she won- 
dered what was keeping the official waitress. They 
rapped and rapped until Margery grew alarmed. 
As there was no one at that moment wishing to grab 


234 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


or drink, Margery hurried over to the screen which 
stood in front of the serving table. Behind the 
screen a frightful spectacle was being enacted. 
With body bent half double and tongue hanging 
halfway out, Katherine was giving voice to the un- 
mistakable ughs of extreme nausea. Alice, but little 
better off, was pushing with unsteady hand the re- 
mains of a large chocolate cake toward the edge of 
the table. 

“Good gracious, Alice! What’s the matter?” 
Margery cried, rescuing the cake just in time. She 
knew of course what must be the matter but. In mo- 
ments of excitement, one Is apt to question the ob- 
vious. 

“ That cake,” Alice gasped, beginning to ugh-ugh 
like her sister. “ Cake — ugh! ugh! — I’m sick — 
cake — poison I ” 

“ Of course you’re sick and good for you 1 
You’ve been stuffing yourselves, both of you ! I 
knew you would and I told her so! And there are 
those old ladies pounding and pounding ! Oh, what 
shall I do?” 

Alice was still making weak. Ineffectual passes 
at the cake and between ughs was murmuring, “ Poi- 
son ! Poison ! ” 

“ See here, both of you! ” Margery said, sternly. 
“ Get in the house as quick as you can ! And don’t 
you let people see you! Do you hear? If they 
see you they’ll send a policeman and arrest you for 
selling poisoned cake ! ” 

This threat was Intended to hasten the departure 
of the twins as something had to be done and done 
quickly for those Impatient old ladles. The twins 


A GRAFT IN HOME MISSIONS 


235 


started off slowly, unsteadily, in the direction of the 
back door and Margery rushed over to the old 
ladies. 

“ Charity, indeed ! ” one old lady cried, sharply, 
voicing evidently the sentiments of them all. 
“ How much longer. Miss, do you expect us to wait 
for a dish of cream ? ’’ 

“ I’m awful sorry,” Margery began, sweetly. 
“ The girl who was waiting on this table got sick. 
They’ve just taken her into the house.” 

“ Oh, well, if that’s the case,” the sharp old 
lady said, mollified at once and noticing for the first 
time the breathless condition and the anxious face 
of the child before her. “ Yes, my dear, cake and 
ice cream for five. And don’t hurry. There’s lots 
of time.” 

But Margery did hurry for she needed lots of 
time to cut five slices of that hard ice cream and also 
keep an eye on the Grab Bag, the Candy Box, the 
Lemonade Well. The thought of her numerous 
responsibilities was almost too much for her. She 
looked about distractedly for help. Her father 
had disappeared and the Bailey mother was busy 
with people at the Fancy Table. So she would have 
to fight it out alone. 

“ How do you do, Margery? ” 

It was the voice of the Lame Lady who was seated 
at a little table by herself. 

“Oh, Mrs. Strong I ” Margery ran toward her 
as to a haven of refuge. 

“ Oh, Mrs. Strong I ” she said again. Then she 
stopped. A strange feeling came over her. Sud- 
denly and for no reason she understood she wanted 


236 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


to cry. She had to cry. And the next moment she 
was sitting on the grass, sobbing, her face against 
the Lame Lady’s well knee. 

“ My dear, my dear,” the Lame Lady murmured, 
surprised but sympathetic. “ What is it, Mar- 
gery? ” 

“It’s everything! I can’t do everything!” 
Then when she had her breath Margery continued, 
hurriedly: “ You know Henry’s all swelled up black 
and blue ” — the Lame Lady opened her eyes — 
“ and Gladys Bailey’s been taken home sick, and 
Willie Jones is eatin’ his dinner, and Katherine and 
Alice just went and made pigs o’ themselves on 
chocolate cake — they always do and I told her so ! 
— and I can’t — I just can’t take care of the Grab 
Bag and the Candy Box and the Lemonade Well 
and cut ice cream and cake for all those old ladies 
at the same time. I — I — I’m tired, I am ! ” 

“You poor child! Of course you’re tired! I 
don’t wonder you can’t do all those things alone! 
But we can do them between us ! It won’t take me 
long to cut ice cream for those old ladies! ” 

The Lame Lady reached briskly for her cane and, 
in what was a surprisingly short time for her, had 
covered the distance to the ice cream table. Before 
Margery could find enough clean plates she had the 
ice cream cut and also the cake. So after all the 
old ladies did not have to wait very long. 

They were the last and Margery and the Lame 
Lady, resting awhile before repacking the cream, 
had time for a comfortable little chat. Before she 
knew it, Margery had told the Lame Lady about 
Pinkie’s sad end and the Lame Lady was just as kind 
and sweet as Margery knew she would be. More- 


A GRAFT IN HOME MISSIONS 


237 


over, she said the pigeons belonged to Willie Jones 
and if he wanted to trade them that was all right. 
And she said of course Willie Jones might see the 
Golden Room, They both might every time they 
carne. Then the Lame Lady asked about Gladys 
Bailey and wanted to know whether Margery and 
Willie had at last been admitted to membership in 
Gladys’s society. Margery’s own fears about that 
had been growing. 

“ But don’t you think she’ll just have to let us in 
after the way we’ve been working?” 

The Lame Lady thought she would. 

“ If we don’t get in on that Zoo picnic,” Mar- 
gery began. 

‘‘The Zoo picnic, Margery?” 

Then Margery had to explain about the Zoo pic- 
nic and, when the Lame Lady thought that the Gar- 
den Party was for the benefit of Home Missions, 
Margery explained about that, too. The Lame 
Lady seemed deeply interested and asked many ques- 
tions. They grew so intimate that finally Margery 
invited the Lame Lady to help that evening and the 
Lame Lady consented to be gatekeeper and cashier. 
Then the Lame Lady herself wondered whether 
Margery would like to have Richard come over and 
manage the cake and ice cream. 

“In his white coat, Mrs. Strong?” 

“ Certainly.” 

“Oh! That would be just too stylish I We’d 
take the screen away so’s people could see him ! ” 

That night others beside Margery seemed to 
think Richard a stylish acquisition. The Bailey 
mother, who had never had the pleasure of meeting 
Mrs. Strong, made herself known and thanked Mrs, 


238 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


Strong in her daughter’s name for the services of her 
colored butler. The Lame Lady declared that it 
was nothing at all and said that she was delighted 
to do anything she could for her dear friend, Mar- 
gery. And Margery wondered how the Bailey 
mother liked that ! 

At the evening session, the grown-up friends and 
relatives of the Little Home Missionary Society as- 
sumed responsibilities and the surviving members — 
everyone treated Margery and Willie as bona pde 
members ! — did as little or as much as they liked. 
Afterward, Margery remembered it as a bright and 
happy dream. Just when it ended for her she never 
knew. Later, she believed she had stayed up long 
enough to hear her father begin auctioning the cakes 
which were left. “ What am I bid,” she remem- 
bered hearing quite distinctly. Then she thought 
he had continued, “ For this fine chocolate monkey,” 
which was, of course, absurd. 

On Sunday morning the Blair father and the 
Lame Lady cast up accounts together and by after- 
noon were ready to. make a report. So a meeting 
was called at the Blair home. The twins by this 
time had so far recovered the effects of their debauch 
that the only traces left were a slight paleness of 
cheek and a quiet reserve of manner. Gladys Bai- 
ley, 'walking with the slow and virtuous air of con- 
valescence, was herself again though her face still 
looked pinched and white. 

On the Blair father’s suggestion, the meeting ad- 
journed to Henry’s room in order that the invalid 
might listen to proceedings. Upon Henry disease 


A GRAFT IN HOME MISSIONS 


239 


had done its utmost and he was now an object of 
frightful size and color. They did not, however, 
see him as it was deemed wise by those in authority 
to place a tall screen before his bed. 

“ Did you notice in to-day’s paper,” the Lame 
Lady remarked casually to the Blair father, “ about 
the woman who was arrested for obtaining money 
under false pretenses? She said she was collecting 
for City Missions and someone found out that she 
was using the money for herself. What do you 
suppose will happen to her for obtaining money 
that way under false pretenses?” 

“ Well, I suppose,” the Blair father said, slowly, 
“ she’ll be arrested and fined pretty heavily and per- 
haps sent to prison for a month or six months or a 
year. This obtaining money under false pretenses 
is a pretty serious business.” 

“What — what is false pretenses. Father?” It 
was Alice who asked the question. She looked as 
though she were getting sick again. Katherine like- 
wise had a turn for the worse. 

“ I’ll tell you,” the Blair father began, impres- 
sively. “ Take for instance this Garden Party from 
which your little society has earned that cigar-box- 
ful of money. Now you made this money by telling 
people that the Garden Party was for the benefit of 
Home Missions and the Fresh Air Fund. Isn’t 
that so? Now then, listen: If, instead of turning 
this money over to Home Missions and the Fresh 
Air Fund, you were to spend it some other way — 
on candy, or trolley rides, or a picnic — then people 
would say that you had obtained the money under 
false pretenses.” 


240 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


“And — and would we be arrested?” The 
twins looked positively ill and even Gladys Bailey 
was startled. 

“ Yes. If you did that you would certainly make 
yourselves liable to arrest and to trial at the Juvenile 
Court.” 

Margery made a rush to her father’s arms. 

“We ain’t in it!” she cried. “Sure we ain’t! 
Me and Willie Jones only helped! ” 

Gladys Bailey looked at her scornfully. 

“You are in it! And if we’re arrested you and 
Willie Jones’ll be the first because you two sold all 
the tickets and did all the work ! ” 

“We ain’t either!” Willie Jones retorted. 
“ You said we’d talk about it later and now it’s later 
and now we don’t want to be in it. We wouldn’t 
be in it if you asked us to! Little Home Mission- 
ary Society ! Shucks ! Little Home Missionary 
nuthin’ ! ” 

The Blair father and the Lame Lady were like 
the unconscious actors in a play during a long aside 
to the audience. They did not seem even to hear 
much less understand what was going on. The 
Lame Lady now remarked, blandly: 

“ So the question before the house is the division 
of the proceeds. The net profits amount to twenty- 
one dollars and sixteen cents. My congratulations 
to the members of the society. You have done very 
well, very well. Now half the money is to go to 
Home Missions, is it not? and half to the Fresh 
Air Fund. That is what I understood when I con- 
tributed to the Garden Party.” 

The twins gave a faint sigh of relief. Through 
the Lame Lady’s misunderstanding of the situation. 


A GRAFT IN HOME MISSIONS 241 

they would not, after all, be arrested. What a nar- 
row escape I They relaxed as though after a strain. 
But Gladys Bailey jumped up bright-eyed and tense. 
Two little spots of color came into her cheeks and 
she spoke with sharp distinctness : 

“ Then, Mrs. Strong, you didn’t understand 
right! ” The twins gave one frightened, protesting 
“Oh!” but Gladys continued: “It was for the 
benefit of the Little Home Missionary Society. 
That’s us and we’ll do what we like with the 
money! ” 

“ Exactly, my dear, I knew I understood aright. 
It’s for the Home Missionary Society and that’s 
what you want to do with the money. But if you 
had enough, you know you said you’d share with the 
Fresh Air Fund.” 

“ I say it’s for the Little Home Missionary So- 
ciety! ” Gladys repeated in a raised voice. 

“ So,” continued the Lame Lady, amiably, “ di- 
viding the net profits equally would make ten dol- 
lars and fifty-eight cents for Home Missions and 
ten dollars and fifty-eight cents for the Fresh Air 
Fund. That’s right, isn’t it, Willie?” 

Willie Jones thought the calculation was correct. 

“ Therefore the motion before the house is that 
we send ten dollars and fifty-eight cents to Home 
Missions and ten dollars and fifty-eight cents to the 
Fresh Air Fund. Are we ready to vote ? ” 

“ Very well,” said Gladys Bailey, significantly, 
“ let us put it to vote.” 

There was a “ wow-wow-wow ” behind Henry’s 
screen and in a moment the Blair mother emerged to 
say that Henry felt too sick to vote. 

Gladys Bailey’s face fell. Then she turned a 
16 


242 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


1 


bright, piercing gaze on the twins. There was no j 

mistaking her meaning. But their father also was | 

looking at them and with such an odd expression | 

that the twins grew wretchedly self-conscious and j 

began to fidget their fingers and to rub together their 
feet. 

“I — I feel sick, too,” Katherine gasped. “ I 
— I don’t believe I can vote.” i 

“ My head aches so,” Alice murmured. “ I don’t 
believe I can vote.” j 

Suddenly Willie Jones gave Margery a wink. 
The Lame Lady saw the wink but it is not to be ! 
presumed that she knew what it meant. After the j 
wink Willie Jones demanded, fearsomely: 

“Now, Gladys Bailey, once for all — are we in 
it or ain’t we in it? ” \ 

Gladys Bailey had been sorely tried. Such base ! 

desertion from Henry and the twins she had never j; 

expected. Her mind was too full of their treachery ] 

to think clearly on anything else. So, stamping her | 

foot at Willie Jones, she gave instant answer: 

“You are in it! Both of you! And you can’t | 
get out of it 1 ” 

“ All in favor of this motion ” — the Lame Lady 
skillfully drew them back to business — “ signify the j 
same by raising their right hands.” ■ 

Willie Jones’s right hand flew up followed by 1 
Margery’s. There was a wicked little grin on / 
Willie Jones’s face and his lips formed a mocking 
syllable — “ Stung! ” or “ Strung! ” or something of * 
the sort — while the Lame Lady, unconscious of any ; 
byplay, calmly announced: 

“ The motion is carried. All that remains,” she | 

continued, “ is to write two letters to accompany the i 


A GRAFT IN HOME MISSIONS 243 

money. The President of your society might write 
them and you might all sign your names.” 

The Lame Lady deferred pleasantly to Gladys 
Bailey. But Gladys Bailey was not to be won so 
easily as that. Flushed and defiant, she burst out 
abruptly : 

“ My father — he says that all the old Charities 
and Mission Societies arc nothing but graft any- 
how ! ” 

“ Yes, my dear, there’s a great deal of graft In 
the world.” (Gracious! Was the Lame Lady 
positively deaf?) “There are undoubtedly many 
unprincipled people who represent themselves as 
working for charities and missions and so impose 
on the public. Like the woman we were talking 
about a little while ago. So those of us who are 
honestly Interested In such organizations have to be 
very careful. When people come to me and say they 
want money for such and such a charity, I telephone 
the headquarters of the charity and If I find they are 
not working for the charity but are out for them- 
selves, I report them. Yes, Gladys Is right: there 
are people who try to make a graft of charities and 
missions.” 

Once or twice Gladys opened her mouth to in- 
terrupt. But what was the use? If everything 
you say Is twisted around until it means the exact 
opposite — 

“ And since all of you are Interested in charities 
and missions In the right way,” the Lame Lady con- 
tinued, after a moment, “ I wonder would you help 
me In a little thing I have on hand for the week 
after next. I belong to a group of ladles who take 
turns during the summer in giving day outings to 


244 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


the children of the Orphanage. This year we go 
to the Zoo. There will be a large ’bus and plenty 
of good things to eat. It would help me greatly 
if all of you could come for you know I can’t run 
very lively.” 

0-o-oh! Wasn’t the Lame Lady the most won- 
derful woman on earth I Not satisfied with getting 
the best of Gladys Bailey she must needs have a 
whole sleeveful of other beautiful tricks! Mar- 
gery gazed at her in abject adoration. Yes, she 
was the most wonderful woman that ever lived. 
That was all there was about it. 

A similar approval went the rounds. Willie 
Jones shook his head as though to say, “ Yes, she 
is — she’s all right.” From behind the screen came 
a long grunt from Henry. He could be fully re- 
covered by the week after next. Even the twins re- 
vived somewhat and began sending furtive concilia- 
tory glances toward their old leader. 

The Lame Lady herself was again deferring 
gently, kindly, to Gladys Bailey. That young 
woman was busied in some lightning calculations of 
her own. Before the pause grew awkward she had 
the answer. 

“ Thank you, Mrs. Strong,” she said, in her sweet- 
est society manner. “We’ll be delighted to help 
you.” 

Once again Gladys lifted high her head. The 
look of command returned. Already one could see 
her, as, no doubt, she saw herself, marshalling relays 
of orphans now through the Monkey House now to 
the Pony Track. 

“ And the letters, Mrs. Strong, I’ll have them 
written and signed by to-night. And perhaps as you 


A GRAFT IN HOME MISSIONS 245 

think the name of our society is false pretenses we 
better change it. After this we’ll call ourselves the 
Little Elks.” 

And Willie Jones remarked confidentially to his 
neighbor: “I just tell you what, Margery, no 
more false pretenses in mine. It’s too dangerous ! ” 







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/ 







IX 


A STOLEN THANKSGIVING 

When the Caf s away 
The Mice will play! 

IN WHICH MARGERY MAKES THE ACQUAINTANCE 
OF HER GRANDMOTHER 

I WASN’T expecting you, Margery. Where 
are the twins? ” 

“ They couldn’t come, so Mother sent 
me. I can take care of Grandmother all right, 
honest I can.” 

“ Is that Margery?” Grandmother herself called 
out from the library. “ Of course she can take care 
of me. I’d much rather have her than those twins. 
Those twins make me nervous — they’re so prim.” 
“ Mother ! ” Aunt Allie expostulated, severely. 

“ Well, they are,” Grandmother insisted. “ If 
they were to stay with me all day I should be a sick 
woman by the time you got back. Indeed I should. 
Now with Margery I’m able to call my soul my 
own.” 

“Is that your nightgown?” Aunt Allie asked, 
pointing to a tight little parcel which Margery was 
carrying under her arm. Aunt Allie was very ex- 
pert at turning the conversation whenever Grand- 
mother’s remarks sounded indiscreet. 

249 


250 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


Margery nodded and then, because she had not 
yet greeted Grandmother, she stepped forward into 
the library where she found Grandmother awaiting 
her with outstretched hand and inviting smile. The 
welcome was so unmistakable that Margery’s first 
impulse was to rush boldly into Grandmother’s 
arms. Then something checked her. Like the 
faint sweet odor of rose leaves and lavender there 
was always about Grandmother the hint of some- 
thing rare and precious. Sensing it anew as she 
did every time she saw Grandmother, Margery felt 
suddenly shy and awkward. Besides, Aunt Allie 
was watching. So all Margery was able to say was 
a very polite and distant, “ Good morning. Grand- 
mother.” 

Grandmother kissed her cheek affectionately and 
stroked her hand. 

“ You’re a dear little girl to be willing to give up 
a whole day to your old Grandmother. Never 
mind, though. You won’t be sorry.” Grand- 
mother pressed Margery’s arm confidentially and 
then, as Aunt Allie was called to the kitchen, looked 
at her slyly. “ Yes,” Grandmother continued in a 
whisper, blinking her eyes fast and nodding her 
head, “we’ll go on a spree together! ” 

For a moment Margery had nothing to say for 
she didn’t really know Grandmother well enough to 
judge exactly what she meant. In fact she didn’t 
know Grandmother at all, for never in all her life 
had she had the chance to get at Grandmother alone. 
Always, as long as Margery could remember. Aunt 
Allie had stood beside Grandmother for the pur- 
pose, apparently, of warning the grandchildren off. 
Grandmother looked strong and healthy but no 


A STOLEN THANKSGIVING 


251 


doubt she was delicate. Else, why did Aunt Allie 
guard her so? Unless, indeed, well, unless — un- 
less she were a little cracked, don’t you know. Mar- 
gery suddenly recalled that she had seen Grand- 
mother act strangely on various occasions, and often, 
often she had heard her say strange things which 
Aunt Allie tried hard to explain away. Yes, that 
must be it, that must be the reason of Aunt Allie’s 
ceaseless care. Now Margery had somewhere 
heard that crazy people had to be humored and, 
as she was to have charge of Grandmother the whole 
of the afternoon and perhaps the evening, she de- 
cided she might as well begin humoring her at once. 
So she answered Grandmother’s hints about going 
on a spree with a good wink and a hearty, “You 
bet we will. Grandmother! ” 

Then Aunt Allie came in to say that lunch was 
ready and Margery and Grandmother had no more 
words together. 

After lunch Aunt Allie had a hundred directions 
to leave before starting. 

“ Now, Mother, you’ll find your supper on the 
sideboard, just the things you like : a shredded wheat 
biscuit — ” 

“Bale o’ hay!” snorted Grandmother. Mar- 
gery heard her distinctly but Aunt Allie evidently 
did not, for she continued without a break : 

“ — and some stewed prunes. If you want any- 
thing else I’ve told Katie to give you a soft boiled 
egg. I won’t be home till half-past seven to-night, 
so don’t wait for me.” 

“Huh! ” snorted Grandmother. Then in a dif- 
ferent tone she said: “ If you find Cousin Myra very 
ill, it seems to me, Allie dear, you ought to offer 


252 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


to stay all night. Katie and Margery can easily 
take care of me and the house.” 

“ No, Mother,” Aunt Allie answered at once with 
unshakable firmness, “ under no circumstances will I 
leave you alone all night. No one would expect me 
to. So just put that out of your head.” 

Grandmother sighed meekly and offered no fur- 
ther suggestion. Then, when Aunt Allie had hur- 
ried off to catch the half-past one traction, she 
clutched Margery excitedly. 

“Now, child, quick! Can you follow Allie to 
the corner without being seen? ” 

Margery, remembering that they must be hu- 
mored, nodded gravely. 

“ Then go, dearie. And listen to me : Watch 
until you see her safely on the big red traction car. 
We don’t want her missing her car and coming 
back. We’d be in a nice pickle if she found us 
getting ready for our spree, now wouldn’t we ? 
And on your way back, Margery, stop at the store 
and get change for this ten dollar bill. Get it in 
one dollar bills. And, for Pity’s sake, don’t lose it I 
It’s my special contribution to the Woman’s Auxil- 
iary. Do you understand? ” 

Margery did and so, with the ten dollars tightly 
clutched in one hand, she sped away. In due time 
she returned with assurance that Aunt Allie was 
safely on her journey. 

“ And here. Grandmother,” she said, unrolling 
her handkerchief, “ here’s the money.” 

Grandmother, who at that moment was rummag- 
ing briskly in the big cedar chest which stood in her 
room, took the money and sent Margery down to 
the kitchen for Katie. 


A STOLEN THANKSGIVING 


253 


“ Margery and I are going to spend the after- 
noon in town,” she began, when Katie appeared. 
Then she paused long enough to give Katie time to 
exclaim : 

“ Oh, Mis’ Gibbs, what would Miss Allie say if 
she was to hear about it? ” 

“ Katie I ” Grandmother said, severely, “ do you 
forget that I’m your mistress? Do you suppose for 
a moment that I’m not my own? ” 

Grandmother glared until Katie was sufficiently 
crushed. Then she chuckled. 

“ I’m not, but no matter. Now listen to me, 
Katie: Miss Allie is safe for the day. She won’t 
be back before half-past seven to-night. Now as 
I Margery and I are going out, I wonder whether 
! you wouldn’t like to go out, too? How’s that baby 
of your sister’s ? Here are those baby clothes I told 
you about. You might as well take them. They’re 
only growing yellow here.” 

“ Oh, Mis’ Gibbs ! ” Katie gasped, holding out 
' her arms for the sweet-smelling little garments. 
“ You’re just too good! ” 

‘‘ And, Katie, does your young man still board 
at your sister’s ? ” 

Katie gave blushing assent. 

“ In that case you better stay to supper at your 
sister’s. Margery and I will take supper down- 
town, anyway. In fact, we won’t be home very 
much before seven, will we, Margery? So you 
might as well spend the evening with your young 
man. Perhaps he’ll take you to the theater. Here, 
let me give you carfare.” 

Grandmother peeled off a bill from the roll which 
Margery had handed her and Katie again blushed 


254 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


and gasped and said that Mis’ Gibbs was just too 
good. 

“ And I’ll get Mis’ Lawrence’s Josie,” she con- 
tinued, “ to slip in once or twice and see about the 
furnace and light the gas when it gets dark.” 

Katie started away with her armful of baby 
clothes and Grandmother turned a pair of bright, ' 
twinkling eyes on Margery. 

“ Here’s the buttonhook, my dear. I’m perfectly 
well able to button my own shoes and don’t you think 
for a moment I’m not. But Allie would much pre- 
fer your doing it and as far as possible we must do 
as Allie wishes.” 

Grandmother chuckled again — do they always 
chuckle when they’re that way? — and Margery, 
squatting down on the floor, began plying the button- 
hook. Grandmother was plainly bent on mischief 
and Margery felt it was high time to call a stop. 
So she began, very seriously: 

“ Grandmother, what did you say that money was 
for?” 

“ The Woman’s Auxiliary, my dear, the church 
society, you know. That was the only way I could 
get it out of Allie. Allie’s awfully strict with 
money. And my own money, too ! Think of it ! ” 

“ Do you mean. Grandmother, that you told Aunt 
Allie you were going to give that money to the 
church society? ” 

“ That’s exactly what I mean, my dear.” 

“And ain’t you. Grandmother?” 

“Ain’t I? Why, of course I’m not! You and 
I are going to squander it on a spree.” 

“Why, Grandmother!’^ Margery expressed in 
voice and eyes as much of shocked surprise as any 


A STOLEN THANKSGIVING 255 


small girl could express. She hoped without further 
words to impress Grandmother with the impropriety 
of such conduct. But, instead of showing any signs 
of repentance, Grandmother kicked out her foot im- 
patiently and frowned in disgust. 

“ Mercy on us, you’re the same as the rest o’ 
them ! And there I had always heard that you were 
the bad one of the family! I’m disappointed in 
you, child, indeed I am! I’ve a great mind not to 
take you with me. I’d leave you home in a minute, 
yes, I should, only — only I don’t like to go alone. 
See what comes of that miserable Allie always tag- 
ging after me ! I’d be able enough to take care of 
myself only she’s done it for so many years that 
now I feel nervous. I was a fool ever to give up 
to her, yes I was. She rules me with a rod of iron. 
And now comes this young minx making dismal 
faces at me just because I want a day off for a little 
change and amusement! Aren’t you ashamed. Miss, 
at the way you’re treating a poor old woman nearly 
seventy — at lowest estimate ? ” 

Margery lost the meaning of much that Grand- 
mother said but she got an inkling that Grandmother 
did not wish to go alone. So she said: 

“ Even if you do go. Grandmother, I’m afraid I 
can’t go with you.” 

“ Nonsense, child ! Why not?” 

The real reason, of course, was because it didn’t 
seem proper to have Grandmother go on a spree. 
Ordinarily, Margery herself was the last young 
person on earth to be guided by the proprieties, 
but, say what you will, responsibility makes us all 
the humble slaves of convention. What! Spree? 
Something perfectly awful, no doubt, in-in-in-in-fox- 


256 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


icating, perhaps! Come to think of it, Margery- 
had once seen Grandmother take a glass of wine I 
And on church money, tool Little Miss Margery 
Grundy shuddered at the thought. She realized, 
though, that the decency or indecency of the esca- 
pade would have small influence over Grandmother. 
Fortunately she had another excuse ready. 

“ I can’t go with you. Grandmother, because I’m 
expecting company.” 

“ Company? Good gracious, child, have you a 
beau already? Why, you’re as bad as Katie! Tell 
me all about him this minute ! ” 

Margery pursed her mouth primly. “ Grand- 
mother,” she said, reprovingly, “ don’t you know 
I’m too little to have beaux? ” 

“ Oh,” Grandmother sighed, visibly disappointed. 
“ Then it’s only some girl.” 

“ No, Grandmother, it isn’t a girl.” 

“Then it must be an old man.” 

“ No, Grandmother, it isn’t an old man. It’s 
only Willie Jones.” 

“ H’m, Willie Jones,” Grandmother repeated, 
musingly. “ Sounds like a boy’s name. If you 
hadn’t said it wasn’t — ” 

“ I didn’t say Willie Jones wasn’t a boy, Grand- 
mother. He is a boy.” 

To this all that Grandmother said was, “ Oh,” — 
a curious “ Oh ” which made Margery feel that 
somehow Grandmother was getting the best of her. 

“ You know,” she tried hard to explain, “ he’s 
only the boy that lives over our back fence.” 

“ Oh,” Grandmother said again. 

“ And I thought that maybe I’d get lonely stay- 
ing here all afternoon^ so I said to Willie Jones, 


A STOLEN THANKSGIVING 


257 

‘ Come over to see me while I’m at Aunt Allie’s and 
perhaps Grandmother’ll give us a little party.’ ” 

“ Well, dearie, I’m sorry to disappoint you. 
Any other day I’d be glad to give you a party, but 
to-day’s the only day I can have one myself. 
Heaven knows when Allie will be called off again or 
when I shall have any more money. But I’ll do 
this much for you : If your young man comes in time 
we’ll take him with us. We’ll let him join the spree. 
Now enough of him for the present. Climb up on 
this chair and hand me down a brown bandbox. 
Allie makes such a fuss when I climb up on chairs 
that I’m positively afraid to lift my foot from the 
floor.” 

Margery got the bandbox safely and Grand- 
mother took out a little old-fashioned red bonnet. 

“ H’m. Wouldn’t Allie have a fit if she knew I 
were wearing this old thing. She makes me wear 
hats! And not even pretty ones at that! And to- 
day I’m not going to wear that old mealbag of a 
coat. Here’s my dear mother’s Paisley shawl. I 
found it just now while I was hunting those baby 
clothes. The weather’s plenty warm enough. 
Paisley shawls were all the style for old ladies when 
I was a girl. Oh,” she chuckled, looking at her- 
self with approval in the long glass, “ if Allie could 
only see me now! . . . Are we ready, Mar- 
gery? ” 

Yes, Margery was ready. She had done her 
best to keep Grandmother home and, as Grand- 
mother would not be kept, Margery would now, as 
duty required, accompany her abroad. If Grand- 
mother insisted on entering the house of Rimmon, 
she would have Margery’s hand to lean upon. 

17 


258 THE YOUNG IDEA 

Katie saw them off and gave Grandmother a 
latchkey. 

“ And I hope you have a good time, Mis’ Gibbs,” 
she said, in parting. “ And thank you again for 
them beautiful baby clothes and the dollar. You’re 
just too good to me — you always are ! ” 

“ I’m sorry,” Grandmother said, as she and Mar- 
gery reached the gate, “ that your young man 
hasn’t come. I should let you go after him only 
you would be half an hour and we can’t spare the 
time.” 

“I — I think that’s him, now. Grandmother, ’way 
up there. Wait a minute.” 

Margery climbed the gatepost and waved her 
arms wildly. There was an answering signal in the 
distance and in a few moments Willie Jones hove in 
plain sight. 

Grandmother beamed a cordial welcome. 

“How are you, Willie? You’re just in time. 
Margery and I are going to town. We’re off for 
a spree and are going to have the time of our life. 
Won’t you come with us? ” 

“ Sure!” 

The abruptness of Willie Jones’s spoken answer 
was more than made up by the delight which spar- 
kled over his face. 

“ Well, then, let’s start.” And Grandmother 
held out an arm to each of her escorts. 

They made a pretty group as they hurried to the 
cars — the slender, straight-backed old woman, 
with eyes and cheeks aglow, attended on cither hand 
by a bright-faced boy and girl who chirped and 
laughed and skipped for the joy of — they knew 
not what. With Willie Jones beside her to share 


A STOLEN THANKSGIVING 


259 


responsibilities, even Margery felt no longer op- 
pressed, but was able to cast forebodings to the 
wind and to begin sipping the anticipations of ad- 
venture as eagerly as Grandmother herself. 

“ The first thing we’re going to do,” Grandmother 
said, “ is take In some Moving Picture Shows. I’ve 
never seen Moving Pictures and I’m just crazy to. 
Allle thinks Moving Pictures are frivolous. You 
don’t, do you, Willie?” 

“You bet I don’t. Grandmother. I love ’em I” 
Within two minutes Willie Jones had adopted Grand- 
mother, name and all. 

“ Then there’ll be the beautiful crowds of people 
to see and the store windows to look Into and the 
Flower Market — why I don’t know whether one 
afternoon’ll be enough for all the things we have 
to do ! ” 

“ And can’t we go to the Bird Store,” Willie 
Jones asked, “ and see the parrots and turtles? ” 

“ Of course we can,” Grandmother assured him. 
“Why not? Allie isn’t with us.” 

“ And can we look at watches? ” Margery added. 

“ Watches, Margery? ” 

“ Yes, Grandmother, watches. In the jewelry 
windows, don’t you know. I just love to look at 
watches but when I’m downtown with mother and 
the twins they never let me.” 

“ Of course we’ll look at watches,” Grandmother 
said. “ I’m glad you reminded me.” 

On the street car, when the conductor had given 
her change. Grandmother entrusted fifteen cents to 
Willie Jones. 

“Now put that In your pocket, Willie, and save 
it for our carfare home. It’s proper, you know, for 


26 o 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


the gentleman to pay the carfare. Besides, then we 
can keep on spending the money in my bag as long 
as there’s any left.” 

“ Gee whiz, Grandmother ! ” Willie exclaimed, 
admiringly. “ Are we going to blow in all that 
money? ” 

“ Indeed we are, aren’t we, Margery? You 
see,” Grandmother explained, “ it wouldn’t soften 
Allie one particle if I brought back half of it. 
She’d be just as severe. I know her of old. So we 
might as well have a good time while we’re about 
it.” 

It was Saturday, the Saturday before Thanksgiv- 
ing, and the town was as full of people and as bright 
and gay as even Grandmother’s insatiable appetite 
could demand. At every corner a little bell tinkled, 
tinkled, tinkled, begging pennies and small change 
for the Salvation Army kettles. The store windows 
were tempting with displays of Thanksgiving sales; 
Thanksgiving wreaths were everywhere; and prom- 
inent in the general scheme of decoration was the 
bird of the day, in little, in big, in counterfeit, and 
in stuffed reality. 

Grandmother laughed happily as they got off 
the car. 

“ Oh, just look at the crowds! Aren’t they beau- 
tiful? Before we do another thing we simply must 
walk the streets awhile. Allie says crowds tire me 
but I know better. It’s sitting home alone and being 
taken care of that tires me.” 

So they pushed into the hurrying stream of shop- 
pers and business folk and, holding tight to one an- 
other, allowed themselves to be borne along. They 
passed a line of 5-cent theaters to which Grand- 


A STOLEN THANKSGIVING 261 


mother threw out the comforting assurance: “ We’ll 
come back to you when we’re tired.” 

“Oh, look! ” Willie Jones cried suddenly, point- 
ing to a pushcart in the street. 

“What, Willie?” 

“ Why, that Dago out there. Ain’t his popcorn 
nice looking?” 

“ So it is,” Grandmother said at once. “ Let’s 
get some.” 

“ He’s got nice peanuts, too,” Willie remarked. 

So Grandmother bought a bag of peanuts and a 
bag of popcorn, and Margery and Willie began at 
once on the popcorn. 

“ We can save the peanuts,” Willie said, “ for 
the Moving Pictures.” 

“Oh, Grandmother, look! Look!” It was 
Margery’s turn this time to exclaim. “ Watches! ” 
she ejaculated, darting over to a large show window. 

Grandmother and Willie Jones followed more 
sedately. When they reached the window. Grand- 
mother looked at Margery in surprise. 

“ Why, child, this isn’t a jewelry window.” 

“I know. Grandmother, but don’t you see?” 
And Margery pointed to a corner where, amid 
butcher knives, sickles, alarm clocks, and the general 
miscellany of a hardware exhibit. Grandmother did, 
sure enough, make out a case of watches which were 
marked 

OUR FAMOUS DOLLAR WATCHES 

GUARANTEED TO KEEP PERFECT TIME 

“ Aw, Margery, you don’t want to waste time 
lookin’ at them,” Willie Jones protested, impatiently. 


262 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


“ We can’t stand here all day, can we, Grandmother? 
We want to go to the Bird Store, don’t we. 
Grandmother? Now come on, Margery, Grand- 
mother wants to go to the Bird Store.” 

“ A dollar watch I ” Grandmother exclaimed, in- 
credulously. “Whoever heard of a dollar watch? 
I’m sure Allie never did. It must be a swindle 
pure and simple.” 

“ No, it ain’t. Grandmother, honest it ain’t. Our 
Effie’s got a dollar watch and she’s had it a long time 
and she says it’s a good watch. Grandmother, I do 
wish I had a watch of my own! If I had a watch 
of my own, I’d always — I — I’d always know just 
what time it was! Don’t you see. Grandmother?” 

“ But, dearie, you don’t want a great big watch 
like that? ” 

“ Oh, Grandmother, I just love ’em real, real 
big!” 

“ Well,” Grandmother said, “ we might make a 
few inquiries.” 

The man in the store assured Grandmother that 
the dollar watches were not toys but good, service- 
able “ articles.” Why, he himself had been carry- 
ing one for ten years and in that time it had never 
lost or gained a minute! 

“You don’t say so!” Grandmother gasped. 
“ How very remarkable ! And how fortunate we 
happened to look into your window. This young 
lady,” she continued, with the greatest dignity, “ has 
long been thinking of purchasing a watch. Per- 
haps she could not do better than patronize you. 
Now, Margery, make your choice. That gun metal 
case is very pretty.” 

Margery hesitated a moment, then decided to 


A STOLEN THANKSGIVING 263 

please herself. “ Yes, Grandmother, It Is very 
pretty, but I — I like the shiny ones.” 

“ Willie Jones doesn’t seem to care for watches,” 
Grandmother remarked, as she began to open her 
bag. 

“Grandmother!” Willie said, reproachfully. 
“ I wasn’t going to say anything, of course. If you 
didn’t. But I do think watches Is very useful.” 

“Do you really, Willie? Should you like one 
yourself?” 

“Like one?” Willie spoke as though he were 
calling the heavens to witness. 

“ Well, then,” Grandmother said, “ now’s your 
chance for we haven’t yet had time to squander our 
money. Yes,” she said to the store man, “ the 
young gentleman will have one, too.” 

Like Margery, Willie picked a shiny one. The 
store man set the watches, offered Margery and Wil- 
lie Instructions In winding, and, on Grandmother’s 
suggestion, gave them each a stout cord which they 
could use until they should find suitable chains. 

“ Ha I ” Grandmother chuckled, as they left the 
store. “They tick as loud as alarm clocks! ” 

“Of course they do. Grandmother. That’s why 
they’re so nice! Oh, Grandmother, you’re just too 
good to us ! ” 

“ Thank you. Grandmother,” Willie Jones said, 
politely. “ Thank you very much.” 

Grandmother waved aside their protestations. 
“ No such thing. I’m good to myself. I’m having 
a beautiful time! And now, what next?” 

“ If we go on a little farther,” Willie Jones said, 
“ and then up a little ways, we can see it.” 

“ See what, Willie?” 


264 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


“ Why, the Bird Store, Grandmother. Wasn’t 
you just talkin’ about the Bird Store? ” 

“ Do you think we want to go to the Bird Store 
before we see the Moving Pictures?” 

“ Yes, Grandmother, I think we’d better. Then 
we’d have it over with.” 

So they went on a little farther, then up a little 
way, as Willie directed, and there, just as he had 
foretold, they came upon the Bird Store. The win- 
dow was large and well stocked with all that heart 
could desire: parrots and canaries; some little white 
puppy dogs in straw; a bowl of gold fish; small green 
and yellow turtles in an aquarium ; and, what caught 
Willie Jones’s eye at once, a cage of little white and 
black mice which were labelled Philippine Waltzing 
Mice, 

“ Why do you suppose they call ’em Waltzing 
Mice? ” Willie asked. He spoke to no one in par- 
ticular, but a small boy, who was likewise looking 
in the window, and who, from his appearance, might 
have been a city newsboy, volunteered to answer. 

“ Why, because they waltz, o’ course. Can’t you 
read?” 

The boy pointed to another placard which Willie 
Jones read slowly: These Mice do not Waltz in 
the Daytime. They waltz at Night. 

“ How can you see ’em waltz if they only waltz at 
night? ” Willie mused aloud. “ It’s dark at night.” 

“ Dark nuthin’ ! ” the newsboy said, scornfully. 
“Where do you live at? In the country? Down 
here the streets is all lit up and so is the stores.” 

“ Well,” Willie asked, politely, “ have you your- 
self ever seen ’em waltz or have you just heard tell 
about ’em? ” 


A STOLEN THANKSGIVING 265 

“ Heard tell nuthin’ ! Ain’t I seen ’em with my 
own eyes many’s the time. Don’t I come down here 
every night to see ’em? ” 

“ Willie,” Margery interrupted, consulting her 
watch, “ we’re standing here awful long. Grand- 
mother’s getting tired, ain’t you. Grandmother? 
She wants to go to the Moving Picture Shows and 
rest, don’t you. Grandmother?” 

Willie Jones sighed heavily once or twice and 
then, turning his back on that alluring window, 
tucked his hand once more under Grandmother’s 
arm. 

They went to three different 5-cent theaters and 
sat through the entire performance in each. Fas- 
cinated and delighted. Grandmother discovered that 
the 5-cent theater devotes itself to picturing every 
phase of human activity and human thought, that 
its range of entertainment is as broad as life itself, 
that the program of any single performance is at 
once clever and stupid, tragic and comic, instructive 
and amusing, interesting and boring — all things to 
all men, not to mention women and children. And 
the audience was a sensible audience that paid atten- 
tion to the pictures, not to one another. So, without 
attracting undue attention. Grandmother could weep 
as heartily as Margery over the films of deep heart 
interest, she could chuckle without restraint over the 
nightmare chases which repeated themselves in end- 
less variety through the streets of beautiful Paris, and 
at the instructive numbers she could murmur, “ Mar- 
vellous! Marvellous! ” with no one to glance her 
reproof. 

“My!” Willie Jones exclaimed, fired suddenly 
with a longing for travel after following with breath- 


266 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


less interest the scenes of two fine travel films. “ I 
always did want to see Turkey and Peru ! ” 

“ And Grandmother,” Margery asked, “ wasn’t 
it just too sad when that little girl died, and after- 
wards when her father found her little doll? Even 
Willie Jones couldn’t help cryin’. Grandmother. I 
seen him.” 

“ Aw, Grandmother, I was just rubbin’ my nose, 
honest I was. I liked the one about the Spanish 
robbers up in the mountains. Wasn’t that fellow a 
dandy? ” 

“ And to think,” Grandmother sighed, “ the way 
I sit at home, day after day, longing for something 
to happen, and all the while I could be viewing the 
most exciting fires and burglaries at five cents an hour 
if only that miserable Allie understood the joy of life 
one tenth as well as my present friends and com- 
panions. Why, do you know, my dears, if Cousin 
Myra Endicott hadn’t been taken dreadfully ill last 
night, I should probably have lived and died with- 
out ever having seen a Moving Picture Show I And 
it isn’t, you understand, a question of finances in the 
least. I’m perfectly well able to afford ’em. It’s 
merely Allie.” 

Margery and Willie shook their heads sadly at 
the thought of Aunt Allie’s inexplicable behavior. 
Why, come to think of it, what more charming life 
could one lead than move on forever from one 
5-cent theater to another I 

“ I’d just as soon try one more,” Grandmother 
continued, “ but I don’t believe we have time. 
We’ve dinner still to think about. I don’t suppose 
you young people are hungry, but I am. In fact. 
I’ve been hungry for years,” 


A STOLEN THANKSGIVING 267 

“ Why, Grandmother,” Willie Jones began, ear- 
nestly, “ why I’m so hungry, why, do you know. I’m 
so hungry I could eat a straw hat ! ” 

“ Me, too. Grandmother,” Margery chorused. 

“ Huh I In that case we all feel the same. Let 
me see. Where shall we go? Ah, I have it. 
We’ll try the New Sefton. Allie says it’s fright- 
fully expensive, but we’ve saved so much on Moving 
Picture Shows that we can well enough afford to be 
a little extravagant. Besides, heaven alone knows 
whether I shall ever again have a chance to enter 
the New Sefton.” 

So to the many other charming experiences of 
that day, Margery and Willie were able to add a 
glimpse of a wonderful hotel lobby, the fun of wash- 
ing their hands in liquid soap, and the pleasure of 
sitting in a dining-room so large and so bewilder- 
ingly beautiful as to eclipse completely in their 
minds the glories of the Sultan’s palace which they 
had seen pictured earlier in the afternoon. 

“ Allie sometimes lets me lunch in town,” Grand- 
mother began, after a grand, kingly sort of person 
had led them to a table, “ but I’ll tell you in confi- 
dence she doesn’t know how to order. She thinks 
a bowl of rice the best thing on the menu. Well, 
to-day I’ll do the ordering. And that reminds me, 
Margery, of one thing we must do the moment we 
get home: we must make away with that bale o’ 
hay that’s waiting for me on the sideboard and that 
dish o’ prunes. You’ll have to run down to the 
cellar and throw them into the furnace. It’s a 
dreadful thing to waste good food and Allie insists 
that prunes, when they are boiled with little or no 
sugar, are very healthful. But even so, I must con- 


268 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


slder my own peace of mind. If we hide all traces 
of that uneaten supper, I think likely I’ll be able 
to get a good night’s rest before Allie finds things 
out.” 

Then another grand person — this one, however, 
looked more like a German professor than a king — 
came for their order and Grandmother eagerly 
scanned the menu. 

“Turkey! Ah, that’s better than I thought! 
Yes, a turkey order for three with cranberry jelly 
and mashed potatoes ind cauliflower and celery. 
That will do to start with. Then I shall want 
pumpkin pie. Does anyone else want " pumpkin pie 
or will it be ice cream? ” “ 

“ Cake with the ice cream? ” Willie Jones asked. 

Grandmother nodded. 

“ Then cake and ice cream; for mine,” Willie 
said, and Margery added, “ Me, too.” ' 

“ Vot do you vish to drink?” the waiter began. 
“ Milk, tea, cocoa — ” 

“ Stop ! ” Grandmother cried. “ To-day I’m go- 
ing to have what I want — not what’s good for me ! 
Bring me a cup of coffee, a good big cup, and serve 
it with my dinner. Milk for the others.” 

“ Strange thing about Allie,” Grandmother went 
on, when the waiter had departed. “ She’s always 
sure that things won’t agree with me and yet I’ve 
never had a day’s indigestion in my life. Last 
Thanksgiving she allowed me a piece of turkey no 
bigger than a button! As I’m a whole year older 
now, I suppose next Thursday she won’t allow me 
any at all ! So, for me, it’s Thanksgiving to-day or 
never! It does seem a dreadful thing to snatch a 
happy Thanksgiving dinner from poor Cousin My- 


A STOLEN THANKSGIVING 269 

ra’s illness. But don’t blame me,” Grandmother 
implored, “ blame Allie.” 

“ Seems to me. Grandmother, you ought to give 
Aunt Allie a good callin’ down. I would if I was 
you.” 

“ Would if I could, Willie, but I can’t. When I 
object, she just pats me on the arm to quiet me and 
smiles at me as though I were an idiot or an invalid 
until I wonder myself whether I’m not one or both. 
And the worst of it is she makes other people think 
so, too. Now I’m perfectl]’’ sure Margery believes 
I’m just a little bit cracked, don’t you, Margery? ” 

“Oh, Grandmother!” Margery gasped, covered 
with the horrible red mantle of confusion. How- 
ever had Grandmother divined her? 

“ Well, anyway, you used to,” Grandmother in- 
sisted with a chuckle. 

Mar^rery was saved further embarrassment by 
the arrival of the waiter. Thereafter for a few 
moments there was little conversation for everyone 
gave undivided attention to turkey. 

“ I will say one thing,” Grandmother murmured 
at last, “ for the sawdust stuff which Allie feeds me 
on: Rice and hay and hot water for a regular diet 
do make a person wonderfully appreciative of a 
good meal every once and so often. Oh, but this is 
a delicious bird! And done just to a turn! I do 
believe that old saying about stolen kisses applies to 
stolen Thanksgivings! ” 

Looking across the table at Grandmother, who 
was eating with such relish, Margery made a sudden 
discovery. Grandmother was beautiful ! Her 
lovely gray hair, her dark eyes and her soft color 
were admirably set off by the little old red bonnet 


270 THE YOUNG IDEA 

and the rich Paisley shawl which had slipped from 
her shoulders to the back of her chair. Margery’s 
own mother was pretty and Aunt Allie wasn’t. 
That as a matter of course for they were 
young. But it had never before occurred to Mar- 
gery that an old person could be pretty or ugly, in 
fact, anything but just old. Yet here was Grand- 
mother really beautiful when once you had eyes to 
see it. And how charming she was, too, when you 
got her alone, how quick and playful and keen 
withal ! Why, she understood Aunt Allie as well as 
Margery did herself! And how sweet and kind she 
could be, how sweet and kind she had been to her 
and Willie Jones that very afternoon! Margery’s 
own mother was a flighty, unreliable sort of person, 
very difficult to manage; Aunt Allie was good but 
didn’t understand; and under each of them stood 
Margery and Grandmother in positions not at all 
unlike. As Margery often, often chafed at her 
mother’s unreasonable whims, so poor Grandmother 
had to chafe at Aunt Allie’s rules and regulations. 
They ought to be good friends, she and Grand- 
mother, indeed they ought for they had much in 
common. And if Grandmother did act a little 
queer sometimes, goodness knows it wasn’t surpris- 
ing with Aunt Allie tagging after her day and night. 
Heavens, why wasn’t she a raving maniac? 

“Good Gracious, child!” Grandmother cried, 
suddenly. “ What are you looking at? 

'‘*Why, Grandmother, what great big eyes you’ve got! 

All the better to see with, my dear.’” 

Grandmother paused, chuckled, and then asked: 
“ What are you thinking about, Margery? ” 


A STOLEN THANKSGIVING 


271 

“ Tin just thinking how pretty you are, Grand- 
mother.” 

“ Why, bless my soul! ” Grandmother exclaimed, 
looking very much surprised and perfectly delighted. 
“ Are you, really? ” 

“ You are pretty. Grandmother! Ain’t she, Wil- 
lie?” 

Willie was stuffing a whole length of celery Into 
his mouth and had to pull out half of It before he 
could speak. 

‘‘Huh!” he grunted significantly. “You’d 
think Grandmother was pretty if you could see my 
Gra’ma Clark. Why, do you know,” he continued, 
darkly, “ my Gra’ma Clark’s so fat when she 
stands up she can’t stoop over and look at her own 
toes ! ” 

“ Mussy me ! ” cried Grandmother, so overcome 
with Gra’ma Clark’s dilemma that she had to lean 
back and fan herself with her napkin. 

“ Why, do you know,” Willie went on, “ she can’t 
begin to button her own shoes! Last time I but- 
toned ’em, she gave me a cent.” 

“ Oh ! ” Grandmother gasped, rolling her head 
with delight. “ Oh, but I’m having such a good 
time I ” Then she turned to Margery : “ I sup- 

pose I owe you a cent for this morning. Remind 
me to-morrow and I’ll pay you.” 

“ Indeed you won’t. Grandmother! I’m going to 
button your shoes for nothing! I just love to — 
honest I do ! ” 

“ H’m, h’m,” Grandmother murmured to herself. 
“ Butter wouldn’t melt In our mouth ! ” Aloud she 
asked, “ And now are we ready for dessert? ” 

Yes, everyone was ready. Margery and Willie 


272 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


discovered that the turkey had somewhat affected 
their appetite for ice cream and cake, but Grand- 
mother smacked her lips blissfully over the pumpkin 
pie. 

“ If someone were to ask me,” she sighed at last, 
“ I think I could take another piece. But I won’t. 
Allie says it’s healthy to get up hungry.” 

They lingered awhile comfortably after the actual 
business of eating was over until warned by Margery 
and Willie’s watches — watches is very useful. 
They’s no doubt about it — that ’twas time to be 
moving homeward. 

“ Can’t we let the first car go by? ” Grandmother 
asked. “ What time is it? ” 

“ It’s five, six, seven, eight minutes of six. Grand- 
mother.” 

“ H’m. Eight minutes of six. You see we’ve 
still got some money that we must get rid of. 
You’ve got our carfare, Willie, haven’t you?” 

Willie went through his pockets and said he 
had. 

“ There’s a whole half dollar,” Grandmother an- 
nounced, peering into her bag, “ as well as ever so 
much small silver. Did you ever see ten dollars go 
so far? We’ve spent every earthly cent we’ve 
wanted to spend and have had as much pleasure in 
one day as any three people are entitled to have and 
yet there’s all this left.” 

A second car went by and still Grandmother 
waited. And all the while, a few feet from her, 
tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, a little bell kept ringing beside 
a Salvation Army kettle. Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle^ it 
said until at last it caught Grandmother’s ear. 

Grandmother listened, turned, and then stepped 


A STOLEN THANKSGIVING 273 

briskly up to the young woman standing beside the 
kettle. 

“ Good evening, Lieutenant. What are you col- 
lecting for to-night? ” 

“ Our annual Thanksgiving dinner,” the Lieuten- 
ant said. 

“H’m. That’s next week. Isn’t it? How many 
do you expect to feed? ” 

“ More than seven hundred sat down last year.” 

“ Is it possible ! How I should have loved to see 
them! It must have been a beautiful sight. Well, 
good-night. Lieutenant,” Grandmother said, empty- 
ing her bag Into the kettle, “ I’ve enjoyed talking 
to you.” 

“ God bless you, lady I ” the Lieutenant called 
after her, fervently. 

“Seven hundred!” Grandmother kept repeating 
as they boarded the car. “ And I suppose everyone 
of those seven hundred had a better dinner than I 
had last year! The poor things! I hope they 
had!”^ 

The journey home was uneventful. 

“ Willie needn’t get off with us,” Grandmother 
said. “ He can just ride on home. And, Willie, if 
Margery and I ever have a chance to steal another 
Thanksgiving, will you join us? ” 

“Will I, Grandmother? Well, I just wonder! 
I’ve had a dandy day, honest I have, and thanks ever 
so much. And listen^ Grandmother t If ever you 
want anyone to go downtown with you again^ you 
just send for Willie Jones.” 

Then the car stopped and Grandmother and Mar- 
gery parted from Willie with What are knOWn as ex- 
pre^ions of mutual esteem. 

18 


274 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


“ We won’t walk fast, Margery, because we’ve 
got enough time and besides I want to think what 
we have to do. We must look into the letterbox 
and open all the letters addressed to me, and if 
there’s one from your Aunt Susan I’ll have to take 
time to read it, I suppose. We may have to run 
down to the furnace if it feels cold, and we’ll have 
to make ’way with that bale o’ hay on the sideboard. 
The great thing, you know, is not to let Allie find 
out things to-night. Perhaps if we can get safely 
through to-night, we can tide over to-morrow’s break- 
fast. That’s quite far enough ahead to plan.” 

Katie’s friend. Mis’ Lawrence’s Josie, had done 
her duty and they found the house warm and lights 
burning in the hall and library. To Grandmother’s 
dismay, the letterbox was full. Grandmother sorted 
the letters, putting Aunt Allie’s on a pile by them- 
selves and allowing Margery to open hers. 

“ And here’s a volume from Susan,” she sighed. 
“ Tw'elve pages on thin paper and crisscrossed at 
that. Gracious me, wouldn’t you suppose the 
woman had enough to do taking care of babies with- 
out writing such reams? I beg her not to but she 
just will. My, my. I’m afraid I’ll be half an hour 
getting through these things. You better get ready 
for bed, Margery, and I’ll come up as soon as I can. 
Light the gas in my room. You’ll sleep with me, 
won’t you? Of course. And, dearie, I think you’ll 
have plenty of time to wash your face and hands 
but, even if we’re rushed, be sure to wash your 
teeth.” 

So Margery skipped upstairs leaving Grand- 
mother with her letters. She lit the gas and was un- 
dressed and waiting when Grandmother came up. 


A STOLEN THANKSGIVING 275 

“I — I think you better hurry, Grandmother,” 
she suggested. 

“How can I hurry?” Grandmother grumbled. 
“ Lm simply exhausted wading through Susan’s let- 
ter. Here, child, unbutton my shoes. I haven’t 
time to put things away so I suppose you better lay 
my bonnet and shawl under the bed where Allie 
won’t spy them when she peeps in on us. You’re 
to be asleep, Margery, when she comes. But don’t 
snore. Little girls don’t snore. Just keep your 
eyes and your mouth closed and breathe naturally. 
I’ll get my arms into my nightgown the first thing 
so that if she does come sooner than we expect, I can 
hop into bed and she won’t know that I’m not un- 
dressed.” 

It was well that Grandmother took this precau- 
tion for, even as she spoke, she heard a sound that 
made her stop and listen. Crunchy crunch! It was 
the unmistakable fitting of a latchkey. 

“ That’s her! ” Margery gasped, in horror. 

“ Ssh ! ” Grandmother admonished, pointing to the 
bed. 

Margery hopped in and tried hard to settle herself 
comfortably. Grandmother turned the gas low and 
then slipped under the covers still half dressed as she 
was. They heard Aunt Allie go into the library 
and a moment later come out again and mount the 
stairs. 

“ Ssh 1 ” Grandmother whispered as Aunt Allie 
entered the room. “ Don’t disturb the child! We 
were both tired so we went to bed early. I let Katie 
go out. Her young man Invited her to the theater. 
There’s a letter from Susan on the library table.” 

Aunt Allie nodded and silently withdrew. When 


276 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


a safe interval had elapsed, Margery kicked Grand- 
mother gently. “SstI Grandmother! We forgot 
about that bale o’ hay! ” 

“O dear, O dear!” Grandmother groaned. 
“ Will I have to make up another story? I suppose 
I will.” 

She reached over for a little bell which she tinkled 
softly. Aunt Allie hurried back. 

“ And Allie,” Grandmother whispered, “ I for- 
got to tell you, — I left a little lunch for you on the 
sideboard — a wheat biscuit and some of those de- 
licious prunes. That’s all. Good-night.” 

When they heard the downstairs door open and 
close. Grandmother crept out of bed and finished 
undressing. She moved about slowly and sighed 
once or twice. As Margery, snugly settled and 
ready any moment to fall asleep, watched her, she 
noticed how changed Grandmother’s expression had 
become. Her eyes had lost their sparkle, her face 
had fallen into worn lines. She looked the tired 
old woman she was. 

“ Allie’s a good daughter,” she murmured to her- 
self, over and over, “ but she’s strict, she’s so 
strict ! ” 

Suddenly she leaned across the bed. 

“ Margery,” she said, in a voice from which all 
the fun and spirit were fled. “ Do you think your 
Grandmother a very hdrrid old woman? Do you 
blame me for all the fibs IVe told to-day? You un- 
derstand, don’t you, dearie? You see how it is? 
She’s so strict I just have to sometimes.” 

Margery slipped away from her snug place on 
the big pillow and threw her strong warm little arms 
about Grandmother’s neck. 


A STOLEN THANKSGIVING 


277 


“ I know just how you feel, Grandmother, and I 
think you’re right! And I don’t think you’re a bit 
cracked. Grandmother, honest I don’t 1 I think 
you’re just lovely, no matter what anyone says! 
And listen. Grandmother, when I’m big and have a 
house of my own, you can come and live with me 
and then you can do anything you want and I won’t 
let anyone bother you ! ” 

“Oh, you darling!” Grandmother whispered. 
“ I knew you were my own child! ” 

A few moments later when Aunt Allie again tip- 
toed into Grandmother’s room, she found them both 
peacefully asleep — really asleep this time. 









f 


- THE SECRET OF GIVING 








X 


THE SECRET OF GIVING 

JVhen children want my pretty toys 
Or little picture book, 

I dearly love to give them up 
And see how pleased they look, 

— A Good Child 

IN WHICH THE BLAIR MOTHER TRIES OUT AN 
EXCELLENT THEORY 

UTT^ OR this Christmas I have such an idea ! ” 
The Blair mother beamed enthusiastic- 
-L ally but the young people upon whom she 
beamed waited in suspense. Christmas, they felt, 
was no time to have their mother get “ ideas.” 

“ But before I give you my plan I’m going to 
read you a story. It’s a beautiful story, one that 
the General Library Association recommends and 
one that our own Club places first on its List of 
Holiday Books for Children. I was on the com- 
mittee selecting the children’s books and that’s how 
I found it.” 

The Blair mother smiled brightly but elicited no 
answering smile. Henry was gazing at the ceiling 
with an expression of fixed gloom; Katherine and 
Alice sat limply side by side more lackadaisical than 
usual; and Margery squirmed restlessly about, bored 
at the prospect of the reading and already openly 
281 


282 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


antagonistic to that Christmas plan for which the 
reading was to be a preparation. 

“ It Is called The Birds^ Christmas CarolJ^ 

Henry’s gloom vanished as by magic; the twins 
awoke; and Margery, with a sigh of relief, settled 
comfortably to listen. 

As the Blair mother read, she noted with com- 
placency the rapt attention of her auditors. It was 
no small triumph to have made out with such unerr- 
ing judgment a List of Holiday Books for Chil- 
dren. She went through the opening of the pretty 
story without comment, then, when she reached 
Carol’s proposal to give a Christmas treat to the big 
family of poor children who lived “ In the rear,” 
the Blair mother closed the book on her finger and 
turned to her own children with an eager, question- 
ing smile. 

“Now don’t you think that was lovely of Carol 
wanting to share her Christmas with the poor Bug- 
gies family? ” 

The Blair mother’s eyes traveled from child to 
child until finally they rested on Margery upon 
whom, therefore, devolved the duty of making some 
sort of answer. 

“ Yes, Mother, but please go on. You’re nearly 
to the place about the Ruggleses getting ready and 
Mrs. Ruggles teachin’ ’em manners.” 

The Blair mother looked disconcerted. 

“ Have you ever heard this story before, Mar- 
gery?” 

“ Lots of times. Mother. Aunt Allle gave it to 
me last Christmas and she reads It to me every time 
she comes. And, besides, the teacher reads it to 
us In school and last year In Sunday School — ” 


THE SECRET OF GIVING 283 

“ I was Peter Ruggles,” Henry interrupted, “ and 
Daddy was Uncle Jack.” 

“ And Katherine and Alice,” Margery continued, 
“ have got it, too.” 

“ Yes, Mother,” Katherine corroborated. 
“ Don’t you remember, you gave it to us a long time 
ago. Here it is.” 

Katherine went over to the twins’ shelf and held 
up a dilapidated, worn out copy. 

“ Mine is new and good,” Margery said, “ and 
the twins are always wanting to borrow it. But I 
won’t let ’em have it.” 

The Blair mother had that sickening sensation 
peculiar to people who find that their latest discovery 
has always been familiar to the world at large. The 
blame, of course, rests with the world at large, who, 
like the deceitful creature it is, says nothing and al- 
lows the poor discoverer to make a fool of himself. 
Periodically the Blair mother was attacked with the 
desire to enter and share the lives of her children, 
and periodically she received some such rebuff as 
this. 

“ You’re going to finish it, aren’t you. Mother? ” 

Under the circumstances the Blair mother had not 
intended finishing the story, but, remembering the 
plan for which the story was an introduction, she 
made a martyr of herself and continued. The 
laughter and the tears which her reading excited 
restored her self-possession and, by the time she was 
through, she was once more in mood to broach her 
Christmas plan. 

“ Don’t you think it would be beautiful if, this 
Christmas, we made some poor deserving family as 
happy as dear little Carol made the Ruggles? ” 


284 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


“ Give ’em a dinner?” Henry asked. 

“ No, Henry, I had not thought of a dinner. 
Merely feeding the poor is a mistake too often made, j 
Many of them have enough to eat. What they I 
want more than food are the extra things, the pretty ; 
things that other people have. I’ve always thought | 
that this was the very secret of giving which most | 
people miss.” I 

“ But the Ruggleses liked the eating,” Henry in- j 
sisted. “ They had a bully time.” I 

“ Ah, but that’s a story. What we’re speaking 
of is real life.” | 

Henry subsided and the Blair mother drew forth | 
some loose sheets of paper. j 

“ Now I want each of you to make a list of the 
three things you want most for Christmas. Not im- 
possible things like automobiles but such things as 
ydu know I can afford to buy. If I find the first 
thing you put down too expensive, I’ll get the second 1 
or third. And perhaps I’ll be able to get the whole 
list.” 

On the face of it, this seemed a promise that they 
were to be given for Christmas the things they 
wanted. But experience had made them cautious of 
putting on their mother’s words their own interpre- 
tation — she was so unreliable and wild when seized 
with one of her “ ideas.” So each of the four for 
some moments regarded pencil and paper sus- 
piciously, trying hard to discover just how, this time, 
their mother’s intention could possibly be other than 
it appeared. 

“You’re so slow, Henry. What’s the matter? 
Don’t you know what you want? ” 


THE SECRET OF GIVING 285 

Henry knew well enough and, thus importuned, 
wrote out his list: 

5 blade knife IXL steel 
new sweater 
pair ice skates 

The twins’ list being, as usual, identical, appeared 
on one sheet: 

2 burnt leather handbags like Gladys Bailey’s 
I 2 strings of blue beads you know the kind 

2 changeable silk parasols like Gladys Bailey’s 

Margery was longest at the actual work of writ- 
ing. When her list was done it read thus: 

roller skets 
roller skets 
roller skets 

“ Margery,” her mother protested, “ you’ve asked 
for the same thing three times.” 

“ Yes, Mother, because that’s what I want and I 
don’t want you to get me anything else instead.” 

Smiling at the quaintness of this reasoning, the 
Blair mother folded the papers and placed them se- 
curely in her belt 

“ Now for my idea : You all know Mrs* Feldhaus, 
the decent German woman who does our washing. 
She’s poor and a widow and has four children. I 
asked her and she told me. Now don’t you think it 
would be beautiful if we gave those four children 
the best Christmas they’ve ever had ? ” 


286 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


“You mean have them here for dinner like Carol 
did?” 

“ No, Henry, I told you before I didn’t mean 
that. Judging from appearances Mrs. Feldhaus is 
well nourished and does not need a dinner. But I 
think it would be lovely if we gave her children the 
same sort of things that we ourselves like to get for 
Christmas. Don’t you understand now? ” 

The Blair mother looked at them with a smile of 
bright expectancy. But even then, though vaguely 
disturbed, they did not understand. 

“ I think,” Henry persisted, “ that the Feldhaus 
kids would like a big Christmas dinner — turkey, 
mince pie, and things — better’n anything else. I 
know I would.” 

“ Well, Henry dear, I think you’re wrong and I 
think, when the time comes, you’ll realize you are. 
Meanwhile I have my plans.” 

And again the Blair mother smiled that gentle, 
mysterious, disquieting smile that set them all a-tin- 
gle with misgivings. 

Christmas Day was to be spent at Grandmother 
Gibbs’s where Aunt Allie would have a large tree 
for all the family grandchildren. So, relieved of 
the responsibility of Christmas proper, the Blair 
mother and her children could devote themselves 
without reserve to the day before Christmas. The 
program for that day was a full one : the pilgrimage 
to the Feldhaus rooms was, of course, the star event; 
the Sunday School entertainment in which Margery 
was to take part was announced for six o’clock in the 
evening; and before that they would have time for 
their own little private celebration which was to be 


THE SECRET OF GIVING 


287 


so simple that they would not, as usual, merge it 
into Aunt Allie’s family celebration nor even put it 
off until the arrival of the Blair father. The Blair 
father was away on business and, though he hoped 
to be home by Christmas Eve, his coming, he wrote, 
was a little uncertain. The young Blairs accepted 
gladly this arrangement of an early celebration, but 
felt concerned and nervous over the simplicity about 
which their mother was so emphatic. If they re- 
ceived the things they had put down on their lists 
they would have as full a Christmas as ever they 
had. So why all this talk? 

“ Oh, what a pleasant surprise we’re going to 
give those poor Feldhaus children,” the Blair mother 
kept exclaiming as, on the eventful day immediately 
after an early lunch, they prepared to start. “ I 
wish you could have seen Mrs. Feldhaus’s gratitude 
when I told her to make no preparations for this 
Christmas as we were going to do everything for her. 
Now, Henry, you take those two packages and we’ll 
manage the rest.” 

“ But, Mother, ain’t you going to let us see before- 
hand what we’re going to give?” 

“What? Haven’t any of you guessed yet? 
Then you’ll have to wait till we get to the Feld- 
hauses. It will be as big a surprise to you as to 
Mrs. Feldhaus.” 

On the way the Blair mother reverted to this more 
than once: 

“How surprised you’ll be and how pleased! I 
wrote your father about it early in the week and I 
know he’ll be pleased, too.” 

Henry, who had been fingering his packages, grew 
gloomy of aspect and had nothing to reply to the 


288 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


bubbling enthusiasm of his mother. The twins, like- j 
wise, were turning apprehensive glances at a certain | 
long, slender parcel which their mother carried. 
Margery alone was still unsuspicious and, one might 
add, happy. 

They found Mrs. Feldhaus just home from work 
and breathless in her haste to “ clean up ” before ! 
their arrival. 

“ You got to excuse appearances. Mis’ Blair,” she | 
began, volubly, dusting a chair with her apron, | 
“ but I been so busy workin’ out and Elsie — of 
course she ain’t very strong.” i 

“ That’s all right, Mrs. Feldhaus. No apologies 
are necessary. We haven’t come to see your rooms 
but to bring you a few presents which we hope will 
make you and the children very happy this Christ- 
mas.” i 

“ Oh, you’re awful kind. Mis’ Blair.” | 

“ Don’t thank me,” the Blair mother protested, i 
“ thank the children. It was their idea as much 
as mine. They agree with me that, in giving, peo- 
ple too seldom give what they themselves would like 
to receive. This time, at least, we are not going 
to make that mistake, are we, children ? And it was 
fortunate, Mrs. Feldhaus, that you, like me, have 
just four children.” 

“ Yes, Mis’ Blair. And Harry and Eddie are 
twins, too. NchV ain’t t-hat funny? I think I hear 
’em cornin’ now**’ 

There was a stampede on the stairs outside and 
presently two lanky, overgrown boys, somewhat 
larger than Henry, burst into the room. Once in- 
side they grew painfully conscious of feet and hands * 
and hovered aWkWartlly near the door. 


THE SECRET OF GIVING 


289 

“Ain’t yous two got no manners? ” their mother 
demanded, sharply. “ Can’t yous say, How do, to 
Mis’ Blair? Go up and shake hands with her I ” 

Harry and Eddie stumbled across the floor and 
held out two cold, lifeless paws. Their embarrass- 
ment was relieved by the entrance from another room 
of a little girl and a baby. The little girl was thin 
and fragile and walked with a painful limp. The 
baby, too, was pale and unhealthy looking with none 
of its mother’s rosy plumpness. 

“ That’s Elsie, Mis’ Blair, and the baby. His 
name’s Lou. You see my children don’t come so 
close together like yours. Harry and Eddie they’ll 
be thirteen next month; Elsie’s only six and Lou’s 
two. But I buried three others between all o’ them.” 

A faint flush had crept into the Blair mother’s 
cheeks. 

“I — I fear, Mrs. Feldhaus, that some of the 
things I’ve brought are not quite suited to your chil- 
dren. I forgot to ask you their ages and sex.” 

“ That’s all right. Mis’ Blair, don’t you worry. 
We like everything, don’t we, children?” 

Harry and Eddie, encouraged by their mother’s 
nods to answer, said, “ Sure.” 

But even with this guarantee, the Blair mother 
looked nervous and uncomfortable as she began un- 
tying parcels. The first objects disclosed were a 
pair of roller skates. 

“ Oh, now, Mis’ Blair, ain’t that a shame I Them 
would just fit Elsie only she’s lame. She got her 
foot twisted something awful when she was born. 
Show Mis’ Blair your lame foot, Elsie.” 

The next package was another pair of roller 
skates. This time the only comment Mrs. Feldhaus 
19 


290 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


made was a startled, “ Oh, Mis’ Blair! ” She was 
reassured by a sweater which would be just the thing 
for Harry or Eddie, and the boys themselves were 
thrown into ecstasies at sight of a large, many-bladed 
pocket knife. A pair of boy’s ice skates aroused 
very little enthusiasm. All skates seemed unpopu- 
lar. For Mrs. Feldhaus herself there were half a 
dozen small, fine, initial handkerchiefs. 

“ I have often thought, Mrs. Feldhaus, that 
women like you as you go about your work must 
sometimes feel a twinge of envy over the dainty arti- 
cles you wash yet never own.” 

“ You don’t say so? ” Mrs. Feldhaus answered, in 
a tone that might mean anything. 

Little Elsie made a faint exclamation of pleasure 
over a long strand of blue beads ; but when the first 
strand was followed by a second, identically the 
same, Elsie was silent and her mother gave out a 
grunt of increasing astonishment and disappoint- 
ment. A burnt leather handbag, decorated in In- 
dian heads, was received in ominous quiet. A sec- 
ond burnt leather handbag, decorated likewise in In- 
dian heads, drew forth from Mrs. Feldhaus a sharp, 
indignant, “ Oh, Gee 1 ” 

There was an unmistakable change taking place 
in Mrs. Feldhaus. From the flustered, grateful 
creature of the first moments of their visit, she was 
fast becoming a red-faced, angry woman. When 
the package before the last, the long, slender one, 
disclosed two shimmering silk parasols, she threw 
discretion to the winds and gave way to what she 
herself would call “ sass.” 

“Oh, now, ain’t them just too sweet! They’re 
just what Elsie needs — one for one hand and one 


THE SECRET OF GIVING 


291 


for the other. They’ll be so nice to keep her warm 
and dry all winter. Speak up, Elsie, and tell the lady 
how kind she is. You didn’t want no nice shoes, or 
no nice dress, or no warm coat. All you needed for 
winter was some nice roller skates and parasols. If 
they’s anything what little lame girls what can’t run 
around much does enjoy it’s roller skates and para- 
sols. And what do you think’s in that last package, 
Elsie? Perhaps another pair of roller skates. 
Wouldn’t that be nice?” 

The Blair mother was beginning to tremble but, 
as though hypnotized, she continued to undo what 
actually was a third pair of roller skates. Even her 
own children, who had been living through an an- 
guished nightmare on their own account, were 
astounded. But it was no time for words. In- 
stinctively they rallied to their mother’s support and 
Henry and Margery edged close up to her ready to 
protect her if the now infuriated Mrs. Feldhaus at- 
tempted violence. 

“ My God, Elsie I ” she shouted. “ It is 
skates ! ” 

As she spoke it came over her that this was the 
last package, that there was nothing more coming, 
and she collapsed into a chair weak with disappoint- 
ment and anger. 

‘‘ Where — where,” she stammered, “ where’s 
the Christmas dinner you promised us?” 

“ Mrs. Feldhaus, I think you forget yourself,” 
the Blair mother said, rising with as much dignity as 
possible. “ I promised you no dinner.” 

“Oh, you liar! You liar!” the other shouted, 
her face now purple with rage. “ Harry ! Eddie ! 
Elsie! Did you hear that? She got the cheek to 


292 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


tell me In my own house that she never promised me 
no Christmas dinner! The liar! When she says, 
just like this, ‘ Don’t you make no preparations for 
Christmas this year. Mis’ Feldhaus, ’cause me and 
the children are going to do everything for you ! ’ 
Didn’t you say that now, didn’t you? I dare you 
to deny It! I double dare you! ” 

She was standing close to the Blair mother now, 
brandishing her arms and shouting at the top of her 
voice. 

The Blair mother, sick and frightened, tried to 
reach the door. But the Feldhaus woman was there 
before her. 

“ No, ma’am! Not much! You don’t get away 
from this house till you hear a piece o’ my mind! ” 

Guarding the door, she tried to lash herself up to 
a fresh paroxysm of abuse, but that mood had passed 
and in a moment she was sobbing and crying. 

“ What I ever done to you for you to go treatin’ 
me this way — me, a poor widow lady with four 
children and Elsie lame. I never asked you for 
nuthin’ but you promised It yourself and o’ course 
I thought you meant It. And I took every cent I 
had this morning and put It In the rent, ’cause I says 
to the twins, just like this, ‘ We better clean up that 
old rent when we got the chancst ’cause If Mis’ Blair 
gives us a big Christmas dinner we can make It last 
three days.’ That’s what I says to them, just that 
way. And now where you suppose we’re goln’ a-get 
enough to eat to-morrow and next day? Lord 
knows; I don’t. And only last Tuesday the lady 
from the Salwation Army come here and says to me, 
just like this, ‘ Mis’ Feldhaus, I got you down for a 
Christmas Eve basket’ You see the Salwation 


THE SECRET OF GIVING 


293 


Army knows me — they knows I work hard and 
don’t booze. And I says to her, just like this, 
‘ You’re awful kind. Lieutenant, but you needn’t give 
me no ticket this year. A kind lady what I work for 
is goin’ a-take care o’ me,’ I says, just that way. Oh, 
what a fool I was not to grab that ticket when I had 
the chanct! They begin giving out the baskets at 
half-past seven to-night.” 

The thought was too much and for a few moments 
she could say nothing more. The whole scene was 
inexpressibly dismal. For some time the baby had 
been adding a yelling accompaniment to his mother’s 
tirade, and little Elsie had been sobbing weakly, 
quietly to herself. 

Suddenly Mrs. Feldhaus roused with an idea that 
I gave her new life and energy. 

“ Harry ! Eddie ! Maybe ’tain’t too late yet ! 
Yous two run up as fast as yous can to the Salwa- 
tion Barreeks and find that lady what knows me. 
Yous two know her. Yous tell her can she give me 
that ticket ’cause the lady what promised me a 
Christmas dinner went and played me dirt. Why 
don’t yous go? Run, damn yous, run! You want 
them Dagoes and Irish to get all the tickets?” 

Harry and Eddie fell heavily down the stairs and 
their mother ran to the window to call after them up 
the street: 

“ Tell the Salwation lady, if she don’t give us 
nuthin’, all we got to eat for Christmas is roller 
skates and parasols ! ” 

The Blair mother and her brood took advantage 
of the unguarded door to slip quickly out. They 
were halfway down the stairs before Mrs. Feldhaus 
discovered their departure. Then she followed 


294 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


them with what is known in melodrama as a mock- 
ing laugh. 

“Oh, are you goin’, Mis’ Blair? Well, good- 
by. Come again when you got some more skates 
to spare ! ” 

How the Blair mother covered the first part of 
the journey home she never knew. She was too 
dazed to think, too weak, almost, to walk, but the 
instinct of flight supported her, pushing her on and 
on, away from that dreadful room and that dreadful 
woman. Then, gradually, the fresh air revived her, 
her nerves grew steadier, and she was at length able 
to begin the work of rehabilitating her self-respect, 
when she heard Katherine remark sententiously : 

“ Well, I think Mrs. Feldhaus is a very imper- 
dent woman.” 

“ My dear, let us talk no more about Mrs. Feld- 
haus. She’s a poor ignorant creature and we mustn’t 
judge her too harshly. She doesn’t understand.” 

“ Well, she was very imperdent,” Katherine in- 
sisted, and Alice let it be understood that she agreed 
with her twin. 

“Imperdent!” Henry snorted. “I guess you’d 
be imperdent, too, if you didn’t know where your 
Christmas dinner was coming from! I feel sorry 
for those poor kids. They look awful hungry. I 
hope they get a Salvation Army basket. I don’t 
know what they’ll do if they don’t.” 

The Blair mother felt hurt at what seemed to her 
the disloyalty of her son, but she only said, gently: 
“ That’s enough, children. Let us talk about some- 
thing pleasant.” 

Encouraged by Henry’s frankness, Margery 
spoke her mind: 


THE SECRET OF GIVING 


295 

“ All I got to say is, I wish I had a pair of them 
skates.” 

“ Don’t say, them skates,” Alice corrected se- 
verely. “ Say, those skates.” 

“ Well, those skates, Alice Blair. But you knew 
very well what I meant.” 

“ Children, children, you mustn’t fight. To-night 
will be Christmas Eve and you ought all be kind and 
gentle to each other.” 

Conversation lapsed until the Blair mother, re- 
membering the little family celebration that awaited 
them at home, thought best to open that subject. 

“ Perhaps, Margery, you won’t like the present 
you’re going to get. But I think you’ll like it. It 
is something you need.” 

“Is it handkerchiefs?” Margery asked, suspi- 
ciously. 

“No, dear, it’s not handkerchiefs. It’s some- 
thing nicer than handkerchiefs. I’ve got something 
useful for each of you, something you need. The 
toys, the extra things that you wanted, that you put 
down on your lists, I thought it would give you all 
more pleasure to give away than to keep. But 
we’ll speak no more about that now.” 

It was midafternoon when they reached home 
and, as the Sunday School entertainment was for six 
o’clock, the Blair mother distributed at once her use- 
ful, needed gifts. Henry received a pair of stout 
shoes, the very kind for ice skating. He had no 
skates, of course, but — here were the shoes. 
Henry was not voluble in his thanks and his mother 
remembered that he was always a self-contained, 
quiet boy. The twins received, each of them, a 
pair of brown kid gloves. The twins, likewise, were 


296 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


by nature self-contained and quiet. For Margery, 
her mother had a hat, a pretty felt hat with a broad 
fuzzy brim, trimmed in loops and pompons of nar- 
row velvet. 

“ Let me see it,” Margery said, as self-contained 
and quiet as the rest. 

She held it in her hands, looking at it, staring at 
it, while a strong emotion — pleasure, her mother 
hoped — began to agitate her bosom and her face. 

“ And is this — is this the thing you’re giving me 
when you promised — ^-ip-promised me roller 
skates! Oh! Oh! Ohr^ 

At the first “ Oh ! ” Margery’s horrified family 
saw her kick that Christmas hat as though it were a 
football and send it flying to the ceiling. On the 
second “ Oh ! ” she met it with her foot before 
it reached the floor and sent it up again. On the 
third ” Oh! she repeated this trick with splendid 
precision and might have gone on indefinitely had 
not her mother broken the spell by a breathless, an 
agonized: 

Margery!*' 

At this, the twins gave a wild leap and caught the 
hat on its third descent. Margery turned on them, 
a black browed little fury with twisted face and 
hands quivering for fight. 

“ Give it to me ! Give it to me ! It’s mine, ain’t 
it? It’s mine!" 

The twins, clinging together and standing on tip- 
toe, held the hat high up out of reach and began 
squealing a terrified duet of “Mother! Mother! 
Henry ! Henry ! ” Margery flung herself on 
them, now jumping at their uplifted arms, now 
threatening to shinney up their bodies as though they 


THE SECRET OF GIVING 


297 


were a pole. She would have conquered, too, for 
the twins were sorely shaken, had not Henry tripped 
her up from behind and then pinioned her down se- 
curely. 

When the excitement was over the Blair mother 
found her voice: 

“Margery! Margery! I’m shocked, I’m inex- 
pressibly shocked at your conduct! ” 

Margery, with a sudden jerk, freed one leg and 
began a vicious attack on Henry and on the library 
floor. 

“ Margery ! Have you no consideration for your 
poor mother’s feelings? Have you no respect for 
me, no love for me? ” 

“No! I hate you! And I hate that hat and 
I hate everybody and I wish I was dead ! ” 

The Blair mother’s manner changed. Turning 
her back on Margery, she put the Christmas hat on 
top of the tall bookcase safe out of harm’s reach. 
Then she called the other children to her: 

“ Come. Margery’s a naughty girl and we’ll 
leave her here alone to think of her ingratitude and 
her rudeness to her poor mother.” 

They left her and Margery, now relaxed, lay 
where she was for some time. She was very un- 
, happy and miserable and would have liked to end 
lit all. Then she remembered that, before renounc- 
ing life, she still had a duty to perform — a piece 
ito speak at that evening’s entertainment. She and 
the other little girls of her class were to meet before- 
hand for final rehearsal at their Sunday School 
teacher’s house. Margery would go now. It was 
an hour or so earlier than Miss Georgiana expected 


298 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


them, but she felt she had to see Miss Georgiana 
alone and at once. Miss Georgiana would under- 
stand. So she went softly upstairs, washed her face 
and hands, and changed her dress. Then she found 
her mother. 

“ Mother, will you please tie up my hair and but- 
ton my dress? I have to go to Miss Georgiana’s 
to rehearse.” 

The Blair mother without a word did as she was 
asked. Then she turned her youngest daughter 
round and looked her sternly in the face. 

“ You leave this house. Miss Margery, on one 
condition: You wear that hat” 

It was clear she expected another scene and was 
surprised and relieved at Margery’s apathy. Even 
when, by accident, she snapped the rubber under 
Margery’s chin, Margery made no outcry. 

At the Taylors’ they told Margery that Miss 
Georgiana was busy and did not expect her little 
girls before five. 

“ But I got to see her right away,” Margery in- 
sisted. “Tell her it’s me — Margery.” 

A voice floated down from above, “ Let Margery 
come up to my room.” 

Miss Georgiana was in the midst of her toilet 
seated before a mirror. In the glass she saw Mar- 
gery enter and called out gayly: 

“ Merry day-before-Christmas ! And do you 
know yet what you’re going to get? ” 

Margery made no audible reply but, when Miss 
Georgiana turned round to see what was the matter, 
nodded her head. 

“What is it? You simply must tell me. I’d 
never guess.” 


THE SECRET OF GIVING 


299 


Again Margery made no answer and again Miss 
Georgiana, after arranging another puff, turned her- 
self round. At that Margery jerked up a clenched 
hand and with her thumb pointed viciously to her 
hat. 

“ A new hat ! How perfectly scrumptious ! 
Come here, let me see.” 

Margery came slowly forward and Miss Georgi- 
ana discovered why she had been so silent. She was 
doing her best to keep shut a telltale mouth which, 
like the mouth of a fish, was dragged low down at 
the corners. Miss Georgiana saw the outburst that 
threatened and at once did her best to avert it with 
a counter flood of words and exclamations. 

“ A new hat! Margery Blair, I think you’re the 
luckiest little girl that ever lived! Why, do you 
know what I said to my old Daddy when he asked 
me what I wanted for Christmas?” 

“I — I wanted roller skates,” Margery quav- 
ered, “and this — this is the thing I — I got!” 

“ I said to my Daddy,” Miss Georgiana contin- 
ued, hastily, “ ‘ Just you let me order a ’ — what do 
you think? — ^ hat and I won’t ask for another 
blessed thing.’ And — and ” — Miss Georgiana 
struggled heroically to arouse some show of inter- 
est — “it came this morning! It’s a dream! I 
wasn’t going to show it to anyone until to-morrow 
but if you won’t tell — will you cross your heart? — 
I’ll let you have a peep at it now.” 

Miss Georgiana ran over to a closet, climbed up 
on a chair, and handed down a huge bandbox. 

“ Here, Margery, you take it and carry it, very 
carefully, over to the bed. You can open it, too, if 
you want. Don’t you just love to open bandboxes? ” 


300 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


Margery didn’t love anything but Miss Georgi- 
ana was so sweet and kind that she had to say 
“Yes” to please her. And mere decency also re- 
quired her, as she lifted successive layers of tissue 
paper, to show some flicker of the interest which dear 
Miss Georgiana so evidently expected. Finally she 
was allowed with no outside assistance to lift up the 
precious hat itself while Miss Georgiana went off 
into further ecstasies. 

“Why, Margery! Look! Isn’t that the stran- 
gest thing you ever saw? Why, that hat of mine 
and your hat are positively twins! Your hat is 
black, and my hat is black! Your hat has a broad 
brim and so has mine. Just look at my hat and 
then look in the glass at yourself and you’ll see what 
I mean.” 

Margery looked, and, true enough, it was as 
Miss Georgiana said. To be sure Miss Geor- 
giana’s was a velvet hat trimmed in long, soft 
plumes, but, nevertheless, it was broad-brimmed and 
it was black. 

“ Do you really think they look alike. Miss Geor- 
giana? ” 

“ As like as two peas. Why, do you know, if I 
cut my hair short and put on your hat and you puffed 
your hair and wore my hat, why — why ” — Miss 
Georgiana floundered for a moment — “ why, peo- 
ple wouldn’t know us apart! ” 

Margery flushed with pleasure. Anything to be 
like Miss Georgiana! 

“ And if my hat’s as becoming to me as yours Is to 
you, I tell you what — Fll be satisfied.” 

“ Do you really think my hat’s so becoming. Miss 


THE SECRET OF GIVING 


301 

Georgiana? ” Vanity was slow in rising but at last 
the yeast was working. 

“Becoming? Why, you’ve never had such a 
becoming hat I It’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen 
you wear. Let me try it on me and you try mine 
on you.” 

With Miss Georgiana’s hat on her head, Margery 
could scarcely believe that the lovely creature in the 
glass was herself. 

“ Oh, Miss Georgiana, if my hat only had feath- 
ers I ” 

“ But, my dear, you’re too little for plumes.” 

“ If I had just onel I’m not too little for just 
one feather, am I ? ” 

“Well now, maybe not. Let me see: Seems to 
me I’ve got a pretty red plume somewhere that I’m 
not using. I wonder now. . . . Shall we see 

how it looks on your hat?” 

“ Oh, Miss Georgiana ! ” 

Miss Georgiana was already ransacking band- 
boxes. 

“ Here it is, Margery. Isn’t it a beauty? We’ll 
pin it in first to see how it looks.” 

There was no question about its looking perfectly 
stunning. Margery gazed at it in the glass from 
every possible angle and then, parading up and 
down, watched its graceful rise and fall from the 
tail of her eye. When she bounced a little on her 
toes, it bobbed enchantingly. 

“And do you really think It’s very becoming?” 
she asked again and again as Miss Georgiana got 
out needle and thread and began stitching. 

Miss Georgiana, taking the it to mean either the 


302 THE YOUNG IDEA 

hat or the plume, reiterated many times that she 
really did. 

Just as Miss Georgiana bit off her thread, they 
heard the doorbell ring. 

“ Good gracious, Margery, that must be the rest 
of the class and here I am so interested in your hat 
that Em not half dressed! You’ll just have to help 
me — that’s all there is about it. Put back my 
Christmas hat in all the tissue paper just as you 
found it and then run out to the landing at the head 
of the back stairs and see if Mary’s left my shoes 
there.” 

By their united efforts Miss Georgiana’s dressing 
was soon finished. 

“ And Margery,” she whispered, confidentially, 
as they started downstairs, “ don’t say anything to 
the others about that plume I gave you because, of 
course, I can’t give everyone plumes.” 

Margery squeezed Miss Georgiana’s hand in 
token that she understood. 

“ And another thing, Margery. All the others 
will take their hats off when they speak their pieces, 
but you just keep yours on without saying anything 
to anybody. Yours is too pretty to take off.” 

“ Oh, Miss Georgiana, do you really think so? ” 

“ Do I ? Well, I should say I do 1 ” 

“ Where are the kids and did you actually carry 
out that fool scheme of giving away their Christmas 
presents? ” 

“ At the Sunday School entertainment and if you 
say another word about it I shall break down, I know 
I shall.” 

“ Oho 1 So you’ve been having a bad time of it,” 


THE SECRET OF GIVING 


303 


the Blair father said, throwing off his coat and care- 
fully piling his many parcels on the hall table. “ I 
was afraid you would. I got your letter Wednesday 
and a pretty hustle it’s given me ever since trying 
to get together a few things to make up for your 
mistaken generosity.” 

There was a grimness in her husband’s manner 
that made the Blair mother wince. 

“Are — are those presents for the children?” 
she asked, pointing to the parcels. 

“ You bet your boots they are! ” the Blair father 
assured her. “ As long as I have anything to say 
about it my kids are going to have Jolly Christ- 
mases.” 

“ Oh, Nesbit! ” 

“Well, what’s the matter? Didn’t it work well 
— ^ that scheme of yours ? ” 

“Work well? I’ve had an awful day! Every- 
thing went wrong. That Feldhaus woman was posi- 
tively terrifying — she was so abusive.” 

“Abusive? Why was she abusive? I thought 
it was our own kids that had reason to be abusive. 
Tell me about it.” 

It was a humiliating recital but it had to be told 
and the Blair mother kept nothing back. 

The Blair father listened quietly until she was 
through. Even for a moment longer he stared at 
her as in amazement. 

“Do you mean to say?” he demanded at last, 
“ that when you found out the awful mistake you 
made about the suitability of those presents you 
actually persisted in forcing them on those poor 
people? ” 

“ What else was I to do? ” 


304 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


“What else were you to do? Everything you | 
didn’t do! Why, it’s simply inconceivable that a , 
grown woman once finding out such a mistake should 
not instantly have turned about and given the poor 
creatures the good dinner they were expecting. 
Even then things would have ended all right, for the 
Feldhauses would have gotten what they wanted and 
so would our children. As it is, think of the misery < 
you’ve distributed around just because you would j 
not give in when you found your grand idea a fail- j 
ure.” 

The Blair mother took out her handkerchief. “ I , 
don’t think it’s very kind of you, Nesbit, lecturing me 
as though I were a child.” 

The Blair father sighed. “ Child or woman, ] 
whatever you are, if ever you deserved a lecture, you I 
deserve one to-night.” - || 

“I — I hate you when you talk that way, 'j! 
Nesbit.” 

The Blair father gave a little laugh. “ I suppose Jj 
you do. Well, it doesn’t happen very often, soJi 
I’ll have to stand it this time. Do you know,” he|i 
continued, sharply, “do you know what’s the mat- ll 
ter with you, Kate? You’ve never grown up. | 
You’re one of those women in whom motherhood !l 
makes no change. You’re the same you were the": 
day I married you while everything around you is’' 
different. You sing the same ballads, spend the' 
same time on your dress, take up whims and fads^j 
with the same enthusiasm, and drop them with the„. 
same apathy. And the trouble,” he concluded, seri-* 
ously, “ lies here : what was attractive girlishness in 
the bride is nothing less than flightiness and irre-" 
sponsibility in the mother.” I 


THE SECRET OF GIVING 


305 

The Blair mother was twisting her handkerchief 
in angry vexation. 

“ Nesbit, you’re positively insulting! ” 

“ I don’t mean to be insulting, Kate. I am just 
trying to thresh the situation out. It’s Christmas 
Eve, you know, a good time to talk things over. 
In the old Christmas stories wonderful changes used 
to take place on Christmas Eve. It wasn’t counted 
at all remarkable for a mere dream to change a 
miserly old codger into a generous, kind, old gen- 
tleman. Such an experience as the one you’ve been 
through to-day, had it happened to a mid-Victorian 
woman — in a Christmas story, I mean — would 
have turned her into a model mother, at once the 
wise guardian, the trusted friend, the devoted slave 
of her children. Oho, what a pity such lightning 
changes no longer take place 1 ” 

“ Nesbit, you are making me sick with your scold- 
ing! Who dares say that my children are not well 
cared for? ” 

‘‘ I don’t know who says it,” the Blair father an- 
swered, “ but the fact remains whatever care they 
get precious little of it comes from you. Yes, I 
know exactly what you do : you plan their clothes in 
the first place as you used to plan the wardrobe of 
your dolls. You do it well. But if you don’t know 
that your care ends there I think it’s time that you 
be told so. Who keeps them darned and scrubbed 
and well-fed afterwards? Not you, my dear. 
Faithful old Effie.” 

“ Well, isn’t that what she’s paid for? ” 

‘‘ No. She’s paid to cook. And who,” the Blair 
father continued, “ who tries to watch their school- 
ing and superintend their studying? I, not you.” 

20 


3o6 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


“ Well, I’ll do that, Nesbit, if you want me to. 
I thought you liked to do it yourself.” 

“Yes, I suppose you would undertake it if I 
asked you, and stick to it for — two days. But this 
isn’t what I want to talk about. What I want to 
say is this: I suppose it’s too much to ask that to- 
day’s experience should teach you all you haven’t 
learned in fifteen years, but — listen to me ! — there 
is one result I’m bound it shall have for the benefit 
of the children. I want you to promise me solemnly 
that hereafter you will not spring one of your ‘ ideas,’ 
one of your ‘ plans ’ on them without first consulting 
either me or your own mother.” 

The Blair mother squirmed about nervously, as 
helpless to justify herself now as she had been be- 
fore the Feldhaus woman, and, in addition, not quite 
knowing whether to be angry or hurt. 

“ You wrote me that the children were most en- 
thusiastic over your Christmas plan and the truth is 
they knew nothing about it. Just the same way last 
Lent, when you confiscated their 2-cent a week al- 
lowance, you told me they were delighted to make 
the sacrifice while the truth was they were heart- 
broken. You see, Kate, how your imagination runs 
away with you. Where it concerns me alone or you 
alone, I don’t care. But I’m not going to have the 
children suffer. So I want your promise.” 

“ I don’t know what’s the matter with you, 
Nesbit. I think you’re simply crazy. But if you 
want me to make any such promise as that, all right. 
I promise. I try to do whatever you want me to, 
you know I do.” 

“ Remember,” the Blair father said, seriously, 
“ this is something I’m going to hold you to. Here- 


THE SECRET OF GIVING 


307 


after you are not to experiment on the children with- 
I out consulting me, when I’m home, or your own 
mother when I’m away.” 

I “ You — you needn’t go over it again. If you’re 
; so unkind as to insist on humiliating me before my 
I own children, all right. You have my promise. 

But I think you’re unjust. Besides,” the Blair 
; mother continued, after using her handkerchief for a 
moment, “ you don’t seem to understand at all what 
j the trouble was to-day. The principle I went on 
was sound enough. The mistake I made was in 
I supposing that the Feldhaus children corresponded 
to our children. That’s where the trouble was.” 

“ O-oh, was that it? I see now. But I don’t 
quite understand yet how that explains the three 
pairs of roller skates.” 

“ Why, don’t you see, Nesbit, one pair for the 
child corresponding to Margery and the others for 
the other two girls corresponding to Alice and 
Katherine.” 

“ 0-oh, that’s the way, is it? All right. I’m in- 
terested to hear that the principle is still correct.” 

‘‘ Of course it is, Nesbit.” The Blair mother was 
all earnestness now, ready to prove her theory anew. 
But the Blair father shook his head. 

“ You’ve gone over your reasons, my dear. I 
only wanted to know whether they still held. As 
they do I now feel sure that you will approve of 
what I’ve done.” 

“ What have you done? ” 

“ I have sent your friend, Mrs. Feldhaus, the new 
electric lamp for the library which I was going to 
give you and you were going to give me for Christ- 


3o8 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


“ What!” 

“Didn’t I do right?” 

“ NesbitI Are you crazy! ” 

“Why? Isn’t that in accordance with the theory 
we’re going on, that secret of giving which you have 
discovered? ” 

“ But tell me,” the Blair mother burst out, “ what 
possible use would a poor washerwoman have for a 
beautiful electric lamp? Why — why, there isn’t 
even gas in her rooms 1 She uses tallow candles and 
a smoky oil lamp ! ” 

“ Won’t the electric lamp be as useful to Mrs. 
Feldhaus as three pairs of roller skates are to her 
little lame girl? ” 

“ Oh, Nesbit, be serious for once! Do you mean 
to say that you have actually sent that washerwoman 
the electric lamp you promised me?” 

“ Well, to be exact, actually, no, but to all intents, 
yes. The moment I got your letter I countermanded 
the order for the lamp over the long distance, and 
then proceeded to put the price of it into those 
Christmas parcels, out on the hall table, which are 
to take the place of those others you so generously 
bestowed on your friend, Mrs. Feldhaus.” 

“ Nesbit Blair, do you mean to tell me that you’ve 
spent all that money on the children?” 

“Pretty nearly. There’s a little left — enough 
to finish up the Feldhaus business. Henry and I 
will run down in the morning and see about their 
Christmas dinner. And we’ll buy back some of the 
skates and parasols if they’re willing to sell out 
cheap. I can’t get over the feeling that we’re re- 
sponsible that those poor kids have a good dinner. 
Don’t you feel the same ? So, you see, using up the 


THE SECRET OF GIVING 


309 

lamp money this way our children will have a bully 
Christmas after all and so will the Feldhauses.” 

1 The Blair mother, her eyes swimming in tears of 
disappointment, brushed aside the Feldhauses in- 
dignantly. 

“ Are — are you really going to be so cruel, Nes- 
bit, as not to give me the one thing I set my heart 
' on this Christmas? ” 

“ Well, Kate, it isn’t my fault. We can’t give 
; our presents away and at the same time keep them. 
Besides, we ain’t flush enough this year to buy things 
twice.” 

“I — I’m more disappointed than I can tell you, 
Nesbit. That lamp was the only thing I wanted 
and I thought when you promised that you’d give 
it to me that, of course — ” 

“ I suppose,” the Blair father mused, “ I suppose 
Margery felt pretty disappointed, too, when she 
found the only thing she wanted had been given 
to someone else.” 

I The Blair mother took a sudden, sharp breath 
j and the light of understanding trembled in her eyes, 
i' For a second it seemed as though the days of the 
1 miracle were returned — that mid-Victorian miracle 
' of new and wonderful insight. Then the moment 
i passed for the Blair mother herself was not willing. 

' Shaking her mind free from so disquieting a thought, 

! she sought the comfort of another grievance. 

“Margery, indeed I Wait until you hear how 
Margery’s been behaving this very afternoon I 
She’s been a little terror I When we got home and 
she found what I had for her — ” 

“ You mean what you had for her instead of the 
roller skates you promised her?” 


310 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


“ It — it was a hat, a pretty hat and she needs a 
hat.” 

“ Well, what did Margery do? ” 

“ You’ll hardly believe me, Nesbit, when I tell 
you that she snatched that hat like a little fury and 
kicked it — kicked it up to the ceiling, actually 
kicked it three times before we could stop her ! ” 

“ Whoop ! ” the Blair father chuckled. “ Of 
course she did! That’s Margery! And I don’t 
blame her a bit! Think of being eight years old 
and expecting roller skates; then getting a hat! ” 
The Blair mother flushed. 

“ Margery has a very violent, uncontrolled 
temper and it’s very wicked of you to laugh at it. 
You wouldn’t have laughed this afternoon had you 
been here. She acted like a little devil. When 
Henry and the twins tried to rescue the hat, she at- 
tacked them all, pounding, biting, scratching, kick- 
ing.” 

“ She’s a pretty good little girl when I’m around,” 
the Blair father began. 

Yes, Nesbit, when you’re around she is. I don’t 
know where she gets that trait. I’m sure none of 
my family are deceitful. I suppose, now, to-night, 
when she comes in and finds you here, she’ll act like 
a little angel. In fact,” the Blair mother concluded, 
as the sound of hurrying feet reached them, “ I 
shouldn’t be at all surprised to see her pretend be- 
fore you that she actually likes that hat ! ” 

The door opened and Henry hobbled in on his 
new shoes followed by the twins holding their gloved 
hands primly before them. At sight of their father 
all three made a mad rush in his direction and caught 


THE SECRET OF GIVING 


311 

at his arms, his neck, his legs — anywhere they 
could. 

The first greetings were over when Margery ar- 
rived. 

“Daddy! Daddy!” she cried, in an ecstasy of 
abandon, throwing herself violently into his arms. 
“ My — own — dear — Daddy ! ” 

Then suddenly her hold relaxed. “ Wait,” she 
gasped. “ Wait a minute! ” 

Slowly and carefully she drew herself away from 
her father’s long arms and rough kisses. 

“ I’m afraid — I’m afraid you’ll crush my new 
hat!” 











^ I ■ 


CHRISTMAS FOR ONE 




Ji >'j’ 


li ^ T.-.' ^ ' 















XI 


CHRISTMAS FOR ONE 

A mav! s gift maketh room for him, 

— Proverbs 

IN WHICH WILLIE JONES BECOMES AT LAST A 
REALLY TRULY GRANDSON WITH A LARGE FAMILY 
CONNECTION 

Christmas Eve part of the celebration 
I had been truly successful. Willie had danced 
JL with joy about the tree and had gone into 
incoherent but very satisfactory ecstasies over all 
the fine things which St. Nicholas had brought him. 
So far the German Christmas had fulfilled all ex- 
pectations. But the next day, that is to say, on 
Christmas day proper, when the rest of the world 
was having its first taste of Christmas cheer, for 
some unforeseen reason Willie Jones began to feel 
lonely. It was not that the cooler judgment of 
twelve hours later had dampened his enthusiasm. 
Not at all. Time and acquaintance left him better 
satisfied than ever with the good things which had 
fallen to him. But, for some reason, it was no 
longer fun to gloat over them alone. He himself 
didn’t know exactly what he wanted, but it is safe 
enough to hazard the suggestion that the admira- 
tion of an appreciative friend would have restored 

315 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


316 

his drooping spirits and that the envy of some less 
fortunate enemy would have made him positively 
jubilant. 

All Christmas morning his mother had been fol- 
lowing him with a puzzled hurt expression as he 
toyed restlessly, almost moodily with his presents, 
looking more and more depressed as time went by. 

“Don’t you like your books, Willie?” she In- 
quired at last a little anxiously. 

“ Oh, Mother, of course I like my books ! But 
I can’t be a-readin’ all the time, can I? Besides, I 
want a-go out now.” 

So his mother helped him on with his new red 
sweater and then, when he was gone, stood awhile 
before the pretty little tree helplessly wondering why 
and whither the joy of the night before had fled. 

Willie Jones started out aimlessly and only when 
he reached the Graysons did he realize that Tommy 
Grayson was the person of all persons whom he 
wished to see. 

There was an uproar of some kind going on in the 
Grayson house and Willie Jones, standing outside 
the dining-room, had to shout and whistle for some 
moments before he attracted attention. Then Sarah 
Grayson’s excited face appeared for an instant In the 
window and Willie Jones cried out: “Where’s 
Tommy? ” 

“Tommy! Tommy!” Willie could hear Sarah 
call. “ Willie Jones is out In the yard.” 

As the noise inside was Increasing, It was, ap- 
parently, with difficulty that Sarah delivered her mes- 
sage. At last, however, the side door opened just 
wide enough for Tommy’s head. 

“ Thay, Willie, I can’t come out justh now.” 


CHRISTMAS FOR ONE 


317 


; (In moments of excitement Tommy’s lisp was always 
more pronounced.) “We’re justh gettin’ our pres- 
enths. Thee you lather.” 

The door slammed to, shutting in that fascinating 
clamor which poor Willie Jones would have given 
worlds to join. He turned away feeling hurt and 
lonely. Yet he didn’t resent the slamming of the 
door in his face. In itself that merely indicated 
Tommy’s anxiety to get back to the fun inside. No, 
Willie Jones understood that all right, and he wasn’t 
; a bit mad at Tommy: it wasn’t Tommy’s fault that 
he had heaps and heaps of brothers and sisters and 
that Willie Jones had none. No, Willie Jones told 
himself emphatically, under similar circumstances 
he’d ha’ done the same himself. Yet this attitude 
I of broad toleration did not comfort him as it should, 
and, as he slowly clicked the Grayson gate, he felt 
so gone in the stomach that he decided to rest a 
moment on the curbstone. 

While he was sitting thus, the Grote family 
trooped by, escorting from the cars, evidently, those 
Detroit Cousins and Uncles and Aunts whom they 
had been expecting. The small Grotes were dan- 
cing about like mad and little wonder considering 
the number of mysterious parcels which the Detroit 
Cousins and Uncles and Aunts were carrying. In 
passing Willie Jones, Eddie Grote had time only 
for a short, quick, distant jerk of the head between 
exclamations to one of the newcomers to whom he 
was saying: 

“And, oh. Aunt Lou, listen! All I axed Santy 
Claus for was a five dollar gold piece. Do you 
think I’ll get it? ” 

Willie Jones didn’t blame Eddie Grote. He 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


318 

didn’t blame nobody. It wasn’t nobody’s fault. 
It was just his luck. And the foundations of his 
stomach continued to sink at such an alarming rate 
that he bent his head over his knees hoping the dis- 
turbance would pass before anyone saw him. He 
was so much more comfortable in this position that 
he kept it until roused by a voice saying: 

“ How d’y’ do, Willie.” 

He looked up to find Gladys Bailey beside him 
resplendent in a new fur hat with boa and muff to 
match. Now, ordinarily, Gladys Bailey would not 
have spoken to him nor he to her, for, it will be 
remembered, each had a rather disdainful opinion 
of the other and up to this time they had met more 
often as covert enemies than as friends. To-day, 
however, Gladys’s expression was friendly enough. 
This being the case, Willie Jones, likewise, found 
himself unexpectedly friendly. Far be it from him 
when a young lady smiled not to smile back. Be- 
sides, Gladys, too, was an only child. Who knew 
but that she also beneath her new fur boa was suf- 
fering from — er — stomach trouble, so to speak. 
Her first words confirmed this suspicion. 

“Have the twins gone yet? I’m so anxious to 
see them.” 

Willie Jones supposed that the whole Blair family 
had long since departed for their happy Christmas 
at Grandmother Gibbs’s; but he hadn’t the heart to 
say so to poor Gladys Bailey. Instead, he sug- 
gested: 

“ Let’s go see.” 

On the way Gladys discussed the beauty of the 
day, the price and quality of her new furs, and her 
satisfaction In general with the best of all possible 


CHRISTMAS FOR ONE 


319 


worlds on this best of all possible Christmases. 
That was Gladys Bailey all through — never under 
any circumstance would you suspect the fox that 
was gnawing at her vitals ! For the first time in his 
life Willie Jones began to have a sneaking admira- 
tion for Gladys Bailey. Moreover, of her own ac- 
cord, Gladys was tactful enough to notice his new 
sweater. 

“ It’s a beauty, Willie, honest it is. I got one, 
too, almost like it only mine’s gray. My Aunt Lucy 
sent it to me from New York. You know this year 
the girls are just crazy for boys’ sweaters. They’re 
much nicer than girls’.” 

By a happy chance they reached the Blair gate 
just as the family was starting off. 

Gladys made a dart at the twins and, crying out: 
“ Guess what I got for Christmas ! ” stood before 
them like the lady in the show window, head erect, 
arms out, slowly revolving on her heels. 

Ordinarily the twins would have been prompt in 
Ohs and Ahs of appreciative wonder. But to-day, 
after the most casual glance at boa and hat and muff, 
Katherine exclaimed : “ Oh, Gladys, listen ! I think 
we’re going to get those parasols after all!” and 
Alice ran on: “ And do you know, Gladys, I wouldn’t 
be a bit surprised if we got boas, too, even longer 
than yours I ” 

Willie Jones’s new sweater attracted even less at- 
tention than Gladys Bailey’s furs. Margery slipped 
over to him but only to say: “Oh, Willie, I am 
a-goin’ a-get skates! I just know I am! Do you 
see that chunky bundle that Father’s carrying on 
top o’ the others ? ” 

What a selfish, selfish world we live in, everybody 


320 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


thinking only about himself! But Willie Jones 
smiled bravely while Margery continued in headlong 
haste : 

“It’s at 4 o’clock! At 4 o’clock Aunt Allie’s 
goin’ a-light the tree and then all the presents are 
goin’ a-be opened. Oh! Oh! Oh! I can hardly 
wait ! ” 

The family cavalcade had already moved on and 
Margery had to rush after them. Even then she 
turned back once more and, jumping up and down 
in crazed excitement, reiterated: “4 o’clock! 4 
o’clock ! Oh ! Oh ! Oh ! 4 o’clock ! ” 

When from a distance the twins had waved their 
last farewell, when Margery had screamed her last, 
“ 4 o’clock! ” Willie Jones turned to Gladys Bailey. 
He half supposed the confidential moment was come, 
but he was mistaken. Gladys was gently shaking 
her furs and smiling brightly. 

“ Well,” she said, “ I guess I must hurry back 
home. We’re expecting a lot of people for dinner 
and Mother’ll need me to entertain ’em. Awful 
bore,” she added, complacently, “ this everlasting en- 
tertaining.” 

Home and Dinner, that is to say. Duty not Plea- 
sure also beckoned Willie Jones. So, bidding 
Gladys Bailey a kind farewell, he walked slowly 
through the deserted Blair yard and climbed the 
back fence. 

He tried to eat because he hated to have his 
mother forever asking him whether he felt sick, and 
he tried hard to talk although there seemed little 
or nothing to talk about. Remembering Gladys 
Bailey’s noble efforts he remarked suddenly: “It’s 
a very pleasant day to-day, ain’t it? ” But he must 


CHRISTMAS FOR ONE 


321 


have said it at the wrong time or used the wrong 
intonation for, instead of agreeing at once and pur- 
suing the subject, both his parents looked at him 
startled and surprised. 

“What is the matter with you, Willie?” his 
mother demanded, anxiously. 

He felt a little flustered by this unexpected atti- 
tude but, in hopes of diverting his poor mother from 
her everlasting queries as to the state of his health, 
he further plagiarized Gladys Bailey in a remark 
which, earlier in the day, had seemed to him par- 
ticularly happy and appropriate. Smiling blandly, 
he said: 

“ I always have a perfectly beautiful time on 
Christmas so’s to remember it all the rest of the 
year.” 

“ Great Scot! ” his father exploded, with a laugh. 
“ Who’s your lady friend? ” 

“ Willi ” the Jones mother whispered, warningly. 
On her own face the expression changed. The look 
of anxiety disappeared, pushed back, as it were, and 
replaced by a smile of confidential yet pleading play- 
fulness. 

“Wouldn’t you like to go to bed, Willie?” she 
asked, leaning toward him coaxingly. 

“ Oh, Golly! ” Willie Jones sighed inwardly, see- 
ing now that his mother was fully persuaded he 
was ill; “Why can’t people let you alone?” 
Aloud he protested vigorously: “I ain’t sick, 
Mother, honest I ain’t. Of course I don’t want 
a-go to bed. I want a-finish my Christmas dinner, 
then I want a-play with some o’ my things, then I 
want a-read, then I want a-go out. . . .” 

He waited to see if she still supposed him ilL 
21 


322 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


“ Of course Willie doesn’t want to go to bed,” 
his father said. “ He’s all right. He’d tell us if 
he were sick, wouldn’t you, Willie?” 

With the two men of her family against her, the 
Jones mother said nothing further, but ’twas plain 
to see that she reserved the right to retain at least 
her own opinion in the matter. 

Dinner dragged itself out interminably long — 
why in the world do people make such a fuss over 
turkey and plum pudding? — but at last, like all 
other tiresome and necessary functions of life, it 
ended. After dinner, Willie took a perfunctory 
stroll about his Christmas tree, rearranged his pile 
of presents, and did his best to kill a little more time 
with the pieces of a Zig Zag puzzle. But the puz- . 
zle didn’t interest him in the least. Like a tire- ! 
some tune, Margery’s last words kept running ] 
through his head, “ 4 o’clock! 4 o’clock! 4 o’clock! ” ! 
until in desperation he pitched the puzzle aside and 
exclaimed, “ Oh, I wish — ” 

His mother looked up quickly from her book and 
asked, anxiously, of course : “ What do you wish, 
dearie? ” 

At that, he was forced to snatch up again a hand- 
ful of the puzzle and remark with a forced enthusi- 
asm : “ I wish I could make this come out ! ” 

“ Wouldn’t you like me to help you a little? ” 

“Oh, no, no, no, no! No, thanks!” he said, 
hurriedly. “ I’m just goin’ a-make it come out by 
myself.” 

As this reflected the proper spirit of persever- 
ance, his mother was forced reluctantly back to her 
reading. 

“4 o’clock! 4 o’clock! ” Oh, if he could only 


CHRISTMAS FOR ONE 


323 


— But why tantalize himself with so futile a 
thought? He could just picture himself pushing in 
and then hearing one of the twins say, “ Why, 
Willie Jones, what do you want?’’ If — if — if 

— if only he had cheek enough ! But he hadn’t. 
He should have to be welcome or ’twould be worse 
than sitting at home with a stupid puzzle. And 
how could he possibly make himself welcome ? 
What magic formula could he use to infuse warmth 
into Alice’s cold stare, to soften Katherine’s sharp 
tongue, to win the silent but not for that reason 
any less potent support of Henry? Under any cir- 
cumstances, Margery, he knew, would stand by him. 
But the others ! 

He racked his brains for a suggestion. “ 4 
o’clock! 4 o’clock! 4 o’clock! ” For the first time 
that Christmas day the moments were flying too fast. 
If he was to do anything at all he would have to 
hurry. 

It is always darkest before dawn, you know, and 
Willie Jones, looking about him in utter, utter dis- 
couragement, suddenly caught the gleam of an in- 
spiration. The daring of it took his own breath. 
Could he pay such a price? a cautious little some- 
thing inside of him asked. Could he? he roared 
back in a mental voice that was positively deafening. 
You bet your boots he could and would! But in 
spite of his own willingness to sacrifice any or 
every thing, other considerations required him to move 
carefully. In so far as in him lay, he would pre- 
pare for future reckoning, that is to say, future justi- 
fication. 

How open the subject? With a happy, dreamy 
expression, he decided, in voice and manner. 


324 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


So he began to smile idiotically and to stroke 
gently and fondly his various presents. 

“Oh I” he murmured ecstatically. 

His mother looked up at once. 

“What is it, dearie?” 

“ Ain’t I just too lucky gettin’ all these beauti- i 
ful presents 1 ” i 

“You are pleased with them, aren’t you?” his i 
mother said. “ Of course you are ! ” ! 

“ And are they really and truly mine ? ” little 
Willie continued, in wonderment. ) 

“ Indeed they are,” his mother assured him. 

“ Yours and nobody’s else.” 

“ And dast I do with ’em just whatever I want? ” 
Willie pursued. 

“ Don’t use that word dast/^ his mother re- 
marked, parenthetically. Then she answered his 
query. “ Yes, you may. They are absolutely 
yours just as this book is absolutely mine. But,” she 
continued, “ when I say this book is absolutely mine 
I don’t mean that I’m the only person who will ever 
read it. I shall share it with Father and any of the 
neighbors who are interested in it.” 

“ H’m,” Willie mused. “ Share it.” 

“ Yes, share it. And these things of yours are 
yours as I have told you but nevertheless I don’t ex- 
pect you to be selfish with them.” 

“ You don’t expect me to be selfish,” Willie mur- 
mured. 

The Jones mother hesitated. For a moment she 
had a suspicion that her son was leading her into 
some sort of trap. She looked at him sharply and 
his face was so innocent, so eager that she dismissed 
the thought as unworthy. 


CHRISTMAS FOR ONE 


325 


“ Of course, Willie, I want you to be generous 
with them. I want you to learn that by generously 
sharing what you have with others your own happi- 
ness will be doubled and trebled.” 

The Jones mother talked on and on, very beauti- 
fully, but Willie no longer listened. He was busy 
sorting his presents, comparing them, putting these 
in one pile, those in another. At last he settled on 
the pretty box of paper which his Aunt Lillie had 
sent him from Kalamazoo. Aunt Lillie was a poet, 
that is to say, a poet in what might be called a 
family way. Her presents were always accom- 
panied by verse. Inside the box was a card which 
read: 

Here’s a greeting to you 
From Kalamazoo, 

My dear little Willie, 

And now you can write 
At least once a fortnight 

To your loving Aunt Lillie. 

The inscription seemed so much a part of the 
present that Willie dared not omit it. Of course, 
though, it would have to be changed. 

“ I’m goin’ a-write a letter now,” he said to his 
mother. “ But,” he added, playfully, “ I’m not 
goin’ a-let you see it. It’s goin’ a-be my very own.” 

“ Very well, dearie,” his mother said, happy once 
again that her boy was happy. 

So, sitting at the desk, the paper before him well 
guarded against prying eyes, Willie Jones slowly 
penned his letter. It was hard work but the result 
was so very satisfactory that he felt more than re- 
paid. 

So far, so good. The next selection was more 
difficult. Again he went through the tale of his 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


326 

possessions, but, though these were many, one after 
another he had to reject them all. That is to say 
he tried to pretend that he had considered them all, 
that not one would do, that the fates were against 
him: yet all the while he was conscious of a weight 
in his trousers pocket which he had fondly hoped 
he might be allowed to forget. But he wasn’t. 
’Twas to be that or nothing and, when his mother 
said: “ Dearie, you better go out a little while now | 
before the sun goes down,” he realized that the time | 
for hesitation was past. j 

So he wriggled into his sweater, kissed his 1 
mother, and then, dashing back to his presents as 1 
though they were so dear to him that he simply had 
to take one last look at them, he deftly slipped the 
box of paper under his sweater and was off. 

As it was Christmas day he had a new purse and 
money still in it, so he was able to save time by tak- 
ing a car. Ordinarily he would have walked but 
to-day he did not grudge the carfare in the least. 
Indeed, in the growing joy of anticipation, he even 
forgot how empty his other pocket was soon to 
feel. 

He rang the bell with the good hearty pull of a 
man sure of welcome. Katie, however, when she 
opened the door, looked at him rather doubtfully. 

“ It’s only a family party,” she told him, warn- 
ingly. “ They ain’t no outsiders at all, honest they 
ain’t.” 

Willie Jones’s heart sank, but, putting on as 
brave a front as possible, he said, “ That’s all 
right, Katie. You tell ’em it’s me. Tell Grand- 
mother.” 

“ Well, if you say so, Willie. Step inside a 


CHRISTMAS FOR ONE 


327 

' minute. But don’t blame me if Miss Allie don’t 
want you.” 

I Katie turned to go and Willie called after her, 
hurriedly: “They ain’t lit up the tree yet, have 
they?” 

“ No, not yet. Not till the clock strikes 4. 
They’re all waitin’ over there in the parlor. The 
tree’s in the library.” 

Katie left the parlor door open, so Willie could 
; plainly hear her announcement: “ Willie Jones is out 
; there.” 

“ Willie Jones! ” he could hear Katherine echo in 
indignant surprise. “ I’d like to know what he 
wants! ” 

“ Nobody invited him ! ” Alice continued, in grow- 
ing excitement. 

I Willie Jones, out in the hall, breathed hard. Per- 
i haps if he waited Grandmother or some other of the 
[ grown-ups would come to the rescue, but, under the 
stress of the horribly increasing fear that they might 
after all turn him out, he could not restrain the 
shout : 

“Katherine! Alice! I got a present for you! 
My — my mother is sendin’ you something.” 

There was a rush from the parlor and Katherine 
hurried toward him, exclaiming in tones of the sweet- 
est cordiality: 

“Why, Willie, have you really?” 

“ Don’t stand out here,” Alice continued, hos- 
pitably, “ come into the parlor where we’re all 
waiting.” 

Willie Jones politely saluted the grown-ups, 
nodded to the new cousins collectively, and shook 
hands with Grandmother who told him she was 


328 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


glad to see him. Then he dragged the box of note 
paper from under his sweater and handed it to 
Katherine. 

“ This is for the twins with Merry Christmas.” 

“Oh! Aren’t the envelopes just too sweet!” 
Katherine exclaimed as soon as the box was open. 

“ And just the size we need to answer invita- 
'tions!” Alice concluded. 

“ They’s a pome, too,” Willie Jones remarked. 

Katherine opened the folded sheet and read aloud : 

Here’s a greeting to you 
From Kalamazoo, 

My dear twins, Katherine and Alice, 

And now you can write 
At least once a fortnight 

To your loving little Willie. 

“ Oh ! Oh ! Oh ! ” everybody exclaimed in ad- 
miration and Willie Jones tasted for the first time 
the sweets of authorship. 

“ I think he’s nothing less than a poet,” Grand- 
mother said, emphatically. “ Already what an ear 
he has for proper names ! Like Milton, you know. 
An ordinary person would have sent his greetings 
from New York or Boston, but Willie Jones, look- 
ing over the map, with unerring instinct, picks out 
Kalamazoo ! ” 

Grandmother looked around the room and shook 
her head several times until Willie Jones, embar- 
rassed by all the nice things people were saying, very 
modestly distracted attention from himself by pre- 
senting Henry his gift. 

“ My Uncle George picked it out for me,” he 
told Henry, “ and it’s a good one. That there’s a 


CHRISTMAS FOR ONE 


329 

leather punch and that’s a corkscrew and besides 
j that they’s five blades.” 

I “ My, but it is a dandy! ” Henry’s appreciation 
was so genuine that Willie Jones felt if he had to 
give up Uncle George’s present to anyone he was 
glad it was to someone with as much sense as Henry. 

“ And what have you got for Margery? ” Kather- 
' ine asked, blandly. 

Margery! Willie Jones almost reeled at the 
I question. He hadn’t anything for Margery! 

; Knowing in the first place that Margery would not 
object to his coming, it had not occurred to him to 
! pick her out a present. Too late he saw his mistake. 
Bearing gifts to the others of course he could not 
omit her. ’Twould be taken as an insult, a deadly 
ji insult ! 

I “ Let’s see it, Willie,” Katherine urged, edging 
over to him in pleased expectancy. 

Huh, Willie Jones thought bitterly, Katherine’s 
I voice was kind enough now, but he knew what it 
would be a few moments later when they had found 
■ him out. He had scarcely to wait till then to hear 
her say: “ Well, just let me tell you one thing, Wil- 
; lie Jones: If you think you can treat my sister, Mar- 
I gery, like that, you’re mighty mistaken ’cause you 
j can’t! ” And then they’d all, new cousins included, 
rise up angrily and drive him out. Yes, he was per- 
fectly sure of it. Against the fury of family pride 
Aunt Lillie’s paper and Uncle George’s knife would 
count as nothing. 

“Oh, now, Willie, why don’t you tell us?” 

He didn’t know what good it would do him to put 
off the evil moment but because he couldn’t bring 


330 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


himself quite yet to face the end of things, he blinked 
his eyes and smiled and quavered: 

“ Guess I” 

That was an inspiration and while the twins and 
the Arlingtons and the Gibbses went through a long 
list of possibilities Willie Jones tried hard to collect 
his wits. If only the moment for displaying the 
tree were come he might yet escape, but the little 
clock on the cabinet showed ten minutes still to wait 
and he knew, ah, only too well, that he could never 
keep them guessing ten minutes. 

“ Tell us! Tell us! ” they were all by this time 
demanding. 

And Willie Jones could do nothing but repeat, 
idiotically, “ No! No! You got to guess! ’’ 

Then Grandmother said: “While we’re guessing 
Willie might as well take off his sweater. Here 
we’ve all been so excited with the presents he’s 
brought us that we’ve forgotten our manners com- 
pletely. Here, Willie, I’ll help you. My!” 
Grandmother continued, “isn’t it a pretty sweater! 
Did Santa Claus bring it to you? ” 

“ Yes,” Willie began, “ it’s a present from — ” 
Then he stopped short, bereft of speech by the 
conviction which suddenly swept over him. There 
all along he had been supposing Uncle George’s 
knife the most precious of his new possessions. He 
had supposed in giving it up he had given up the 
most that could be required of him. Forgetting this 
one thing he had said he would be willing to pay 
any price and, lo, fate had taken him at his word! 
Gladys Bailey’s remark about sweaters that very 
morning came back to him tinged with the signifi- 
cance of a mocking prophecy. He knew the worst 


CHRISTMAS FOR ONE 


331 


now. He knew that he was to be stripped, merci- 
lessly stripped of everything that heart held dear. 

“Oh, go on, Willie! You just got to tell us! 
WeVe guessed everything. Now what is it? ” 

It was no use. What had to be, had to be. 

“ Why, can’t you guess? ” Willie exclaimed, smil- 
ing wanly. He held out his beautiful new sweater 
with steady hand. “ It’s this. I — I — I knew 
Margery wouldn’t mind if I wore it over. You 
know really it’s a boy’s sweater, but this year all the 
girls are just crazy for boys’ sweaters. So my 
mother just thought — ” What his mother thought, 
Willie Jones indicated by a sagacious headshake. 
Then, to make surety doubly sure, he added: “And 
Gladys Bailey’s got a boy’s sweater, too. She told 
me so this morning.” 

“Oh! Isn’t it beautiful!” Katherine gasped. 

“ I never saw anything so lovely,” Alice mur- 
mured. 

In the first moments of astonished possession, 
Margery herself was too overcome for words. At 
last, though, she managed to stammer: 

“ Why, Willie Jones, do you know — do you 
know — why, do you know I’d rather have a boy’s 
sweater than — than a diamond watch! Honest I 
would! My, but you’re awful kind! And do you 
know I ain’t got anything for you at all.” 

Margery was really distressed at the thought. 

“ Aw, that’s all right,” Willie assured her mag- 
nanimously. “ I didn’t expect you to give me 
nuthin’, honest I didn’t.” 

Then the chapter of Willie Jones’s presents was 
brought to a close by the boom of the hall clock. 
The library doors slipped open and there from the 


332 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


gloom beyond gleamed and nodded and twinkled the 
most beautiful Christmas tree in the world. 

“O — o — oh!” everybody gasped, slowly and 
rapturously. 

For some seconds they all stood where they were 
breathing deep draughts of that blazing glory. 
Then there was a sudden stampede and all the 
grandchildren, big and little, inclusive of course of 
Willie Jones, impelled by the same manifestation of 
the mob spirit, took hands and danced, madly, i 
wildly, about the tree, laughing and singing and 
shouting in a pandemonium delicious to hear. • 

At length this frenzy passed to give way to an- 
other as one by one the dancers began to respond 
to the mysterious bobbings and curtsyings and beck- 
onlngs of the various objects on the tree. *Twas a 
moment when affinities met, when ragdolls smiled 
rapturously Into the awestruck faces of their future 
mammas, when popguns almost exploded In their 
haste to reach the hands of their young lords and ■ 
masters to be, when snugly wrapped up parcels, des- 
tined for the older grandchildren, pretended to be 
calm, but in reality were striving to break Into 
speech and action quite as hard as any of the younger, 
things. j 

The Blair father distributed the gifts and, being 
a grown-up, had, of course, to make a speech be- 
forehand. The other grown-ups laughed and ap-; 
plauded and the young folk sighed and squirmed 
until at length Grandmother called out: “ WeVe had 
enough of you, Nesbit! What we want Is our pres-; 
ents, isn’t It, Grandchildren?” And with one 
mighty howl. Grandchildren shouted, “Yes!” 

Thus driven to business the Blair father showed 


CHRISTMAS FOR ONE 


333 


with what dispatch he could work and in a few mo- 
ments Grandchildren were rushing hither and thither 
I seeking safe storehouses for their treasures, yet 
hardly daring to trust them out of their own arms. 

“ Say, everybody ! This chair is mine ! Don’t 
nobody touch anything on it I ” 

“ Here, Mother, you hold this a minute ! But 
don’t forget now, it’s mine — ’tain’t Harry’s ! ” 

' “ Now remember, Ted, mine’s the red one! ” 

“ Aunt Allie, if I lay this down here, you won’t 
let anyone take it, will you? ” 

And so on. Willie Jones did his best not to feel 
emptyhanded and shouted into Jimmy Gibbs’s ear: 
“ I got some dandy books, too, at home,” and told 
Ted Arlington: “ Your printin’ press is all right, but 
just you wait till you see mine 1 ” and tried hard 
to make the twins believe that his Zig Zag was a little 
more interesting as well as a little more difficult than 
theirs. But talk as much as he would he was not 
able to attract much attention. At that moment 
everyone was too much absorbed in the mere pleas- 
ure of possession to enter discussions of relative val- 
ues. Of course Willie Jones didn’t blame them, but 
after the generous presents he had given he thought 
they might at least — 

Then the unexpected happened. The Blair father 
thumped on the floor for quiet, raised a mysterious 
hand and slowly, with great difficulty, apparently, 
picked off the tree a fat envelope which nobody had 
noticed before. He turned it over and over until 
everyone was frantic at his slowness and then at last 
read out: “ Duplicates — Rare.” 

The Granddaughters gave a disappointed 
“Huh!” and returned to their own affairs, but 


334 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


Henry, Jimmy and Harry Gibbs, Ted Arlington and 
Willie Jones pressed forward eagerly. 

“Who can it be for?” the Blair father queried, 
continuing to examine the envelope from all angles. 
“Ah, here it is: To Willie Jones with Love and 
Merry Xmas from Grandmother,” 

Willie Jones pretty nearly jumped out of his skin 
with pleasure and surprise. He was much too ex- 
cited to notice the sudden coolness with which the 
Real Grandsons were regarding him. 

“ Thanks — thanks awful much. Grandmother,” 
he said, as soon as he had the envelope safe in his 
own hands. “ It’s — it’s awful kind of you.” 

“ I only hope you’ll find some good ones in them,” 
Grandmother said. 

Good ones! Among the first Willie Jones picked 
out were a three-cornered Cape of Good Hope red^ 
a ninety cent U. S. purple, two Chinese of the old, 
old issue ... 

“ Grandmother,” Henry began, slowly, sol- 
emly, “ I thought you knew I had a collection of 
stamps.” 

“ Mercy on us, Henry! ” Grandmother exclaimed, 

“ there are moments when you look exactly like 
your Aunt Allie! ” 

Henry turned heavily to Willie Jones. 

“ I’ll trade you,” he said, shortly. j 

Willie Jones put him off with a light, “ Well, | 
we’ll see.” Was it possible that there was just the j 
wee-est note of condescension in Willie Jones’s tone? I 
“ O’ course I’ll have to sort ’em first and find out ; 
about ’em. You see,” he concluded, deftly pushing | 
in the iron an inch or two further, “ they’s some aw- 


CHRISTMAS FOR ONE 


335 

ful good ones. I wonder where Grandmother could 
ha’ got ’em? ” 

“ I know where she got ’em all right,” Henry was 
able to answer significantly. “ From Uncle James’s 
things. She must ha’ slipped up to the attic when 
we weren’t watching. Aunt Allie never lets me go 
up there alone.” 

“ Golly ! ” one of the Arlington cousins sighed, 
gloomily. “ WIsht I had my stamps along! ” 

So, from a poor Interloper who could scarce get 
a hearing for the tale of his possessions at home, 
Willie Jones became suddenly a person of weight 
and understanding whose society was sought, whose 
opinion was asked. . . . How hearty Is the 

laugh of your successful man! How pungent his 
wit, how confident his tone! No apologist, he, as 
he shoulders his way through the crowd. The 
crowd recognizes him for what he Is and enjoys be- 
ing shouldered by him. Toadyism and snobbery? 
What nonsense ! If admiration be frankly, will- 
ingly offered by them, why should It not be as 
frankly accepted by him ? 

“ Say, Willie, if you ever need that knife you 
gave me, just say so and I’ll lend It to you.” 

“Say, Willie, do you ever come to Cleveland? 
’Cause if you do, bring your stamps next time and 
mebbe we can make some trades.” 

“ Listen, Willie, I know a fellow named Jones In 
Columbus. Do you suppose he’s a cousin of yours ? 
He’s cross-eyed.” 

Willie Jones had never had such a delightful 
Christmas In his life. It wasn’t that the people with 
whom he was associating were particularly bright or 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


336 

particularly entertaining, but rather that he himself 
was in such good form. There are those happy mo- 
ments in life, rare to be sure but occasional, when 
everything one does is the right thing, everything 
one says is well said. At such times one feels within 
one’s self a juster appreciation than usual of one’s 
own worth and glories in the feeling. So Willie 
Jones felt, so Willie Jones gloried as he moved 
about kindly among the Grandsons, holding in his 
hand, with apparent carelessness, a fat envelope 
marked, Duplicates — Rare, 

“ Of course you can wear my sweater home,” 
Margery said, after Aunt Allie had whispered about 
that Grandmother was getting tired. “ Just so’s I 
have it to-morrow morning it’s all right. But please 
take good care of iti ” 

So Willie Jones got into his own Christmas 
sweater once again and, thus arrayed, stepped up 
to Grandmother to pay his parting respects. 

“ I’m so glad you were able to come,” she said, 
quite as though she had invited him beforehand. , 
“ And remember I’ll expect you next Christmas.” ' 
Then Grandmother held down her cheek to be kissed 
just as she did to the Really Truly Grandchildren. 

The walk home was long but very pleasant. Wil- i 
lie Jones’s fat envelope was tucked under his sweater i 
where the box of note paper had been earlier in the j 
day. Thence it radiated such a feeling of comfort i 
that even his pocket forgot its aching void and | 
trotted cheerfully along quite as though it had never i 
known the delightful weight of Uncle George’s 1 
knife. And that nothing should be lacking to make i 
Willie Jones one of the family, they all allowed him ! 
to carry their overflow of bundles. | 


CHRISTMAS FOR ONE 


337 


As they reached the Blair gate two muffled figures 
hurried toward them. 

“Is — is Willie with you?” It was the Jones 
mother’s voice in which anxiety changed to relief as 
her son stepped forward. “ We’ve been to all the 
neighbors and were beginning to get — ” 

“ The things were beautiful, Mrs. Jones,” the 
Blair mother interrupted, effusively. “ It was so 
kind of you remembering our children and you 
couldn’t have selected presents they like better.” 

“ Presents? ” queried the Jones mother. 

“ The sweater is simply lovely,” the Blair mother 
continued, putting a hand on Willie’s shoulder and 
pinching the wool approvingly. 

“ You’ll bring it over in the morning the first 
thing, won’t you, Willie? ” Margery reminded him, a 
little anxiously. 

“ You see how pleased Margery is with it,” Mar- 
gery’s mother laughed. “ She hardly knows 
whether to trust it out of her own hands even to- 
night.” 

“ Margery? ” the Jones mother continued. 

“ Thanks so much, Mrs. Jones,” Margery said, 
stroking the arm of the sweater affectionately, 
“ it’s such a pretty color.” 

There was simply no room for the Jones mother 
longer to doubt that Margery was coolly making 
arrangements to take over the ownership of Willie’s 
new sweater ! 

“ But — but, Mrs. Blair,” she protested, a little 
wildly, “ it isn’t a girl’s sweater ! It’s a boy’s! ” 

“ That’s just why Margery likes it so much,” 
Margery’s mother announced triumphantly. “ The 
girls much prefer bbys* sweaters to girls’. I think 
22 


338 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


It was so clever of you knowing it when you have no 
girls of your own. And the paper, too,” she con- 
tinued, cordially. “ It’s just too pretty.” 

“ Paper? ” the Jones mother said, with rising in- 
flection. 

The Blair father stepped over to the Jones father 
for a light and Willie Jones heard him mutter: 
“ The young codger’s own idea, eh ? ” and the Jones 
father answered : “ Mum’s the word ! ” from which 
Willie Jones gathered that the two patresfamilias had 
grasped the situation but were not going to split on 
him. 

“ And,” the Blair mother was continuing, “ we 
all thought the little poem about Kalamazoo just 
too clever.” 

“ Kalamazoo? ” 

“ Yes, Kalamazoo. Don’t you know it was so 
clever of Willie saying Kalamazoo instead of New 
York or Boston.” 

“New York or Boston?” 

The Jones mother was so badly flustered that the 
Jones father had to come to the rescue. 

“ You see,” he said, “ Willie knows Kalamazoo 
because he has an aunt living there. Aunt Lillie,” 
he repeated slowly and distinctly for his wife’s bene- 
fit, “ Aunt Lillie — Kalamazoo — box o’ paper.” 

“ Oh I ” said the Jones mother. 

“ The twins liked the paper,” Willie remarked, 
a little unsteadily. “ And Henry liked the knife.” 
He deemed it wise that his mother should at once 
know all. There are times when the presence of 
outsiders exerts a restraining influence, as it were. 

“Knife?” said the Jones mother. 

“Uncle George,” her son explained, significantly, 


CHRISTMAS FOR ONE 


339 


“ does know how to pick out a good knife. Henry 
says so, too.” 

“Henry?” 

Then the Jones mother took a long breath. She 
understood at last. Her son had been despoiled, or 
had despoiled himself — ’twas a distinction without 
a difference ! — of all his Christmas gear ! “I — 
Tm glad Henry likes your Uncle George’s knife,” 
she said, in a tone which seemed to have borrowed 
an edge from the article in question. “ May — 
may I ask what else?” 

“ That — that’s all,” Willie Jones murmured, 
hurriedly. 

“ Nothing else to-night,” the Jones father said, 
playfully, “ unless we all want to freeze to death. I 
think it’s time to say Good-night.” 

“Good-night! Good-night!” the Blair family 
chorused cheerfully. 

“ And I say, Willie,” Henry shouted, “ you might 
bring your stamps with you to-morrow morning.” 

“ Well, we’ll see,” Willie called back. 

If Willie Jones expected scoldings and reproaches 
in the first moments of family privacy, he was pleas- 
antly disappointed. The Jones mother had nothing 
to say to either of the men of her family. She knew 
and she knew that they knew that she knew that, as 
usual, they were standing together. The nearest, 
the friendliest confidants she could find were the 
frosty stars. To them she turned a tragic face and 
announced : 

“ That sweater cost five dollars ! ” 

Five dollars ! Willie hadn’t realized it was so 
serious a matter as that! He cleared his throat 
apologetically. 


340 


THE YOUNG IDEA 


“ Well, you see,” he began, “ you see I couldn’t 
go buttin’ in when they hadn’t invited me ’cause it 
was a fambly party. So I thought to myself they’ll 
be glad enough to see me if I bring some presents. 
And you know yourself — ” He was going to recall 
his mother’s own words about sharing but hesitated. 
It’s a mean trick to hit a fellow when he’s down 
and for some reason his mother seemed badly down. 

Still she said nothing. 

“ Willie’s quite right,” his father said, trying hard 
to treat the matter from the plain commonsense 
point of view. “ Of course he couldn’t have gone to 
that family party without some such excuse.” 

“ That’s just it,” Willie went on. “ Only the 
fambly was invited. I knew that and so I says to 
myself — ” 

“ But why,” his mother broke out, passionately, 
“ why did you have to go to Miss Gibbs’s party at 
all? Didn’t you have a pretty enough Christmas of 
your own? ” 

“ It wasn’t Aunt Allie’s party,” Willie corrected; 
“ it was Grandmother’s.” This matter clear, he 
went on. “ Yes, I liked my own Christmas. It 
was all right. But, don’t you see, they wasn’t no- 
body there but me. At Grandmother Gibbs’s they 
was just stacks and stacks o’ grandchildren: Henry 
and the twins and Margery and the three Gibbses 
from Columbus and the six Arlingtons from Cleve- 
land. . . . Kitty Arlington,” he rambled on, 

“ is just as big as Margery, and Ted Arlington’s al- 
most as big as Alice and he’s only nine and a half.” 

“ Don’t worry about it, Helen. Let it go,” his 
father said, speaking over his head in the expression- 
less tone which grown-ups use when they wish their 


CHRISTMAS FOR ONE 


341 


meaning to pass unnoticed. “ I can’t blame him, 
really I can’t. Christmas for one is a lonely, stupid 
sort of thing.” 

And then Willie Jones discovered that his mother 
was crying. He really hadn’t supposed she would 
take the loss of the sweater so much to heart as that. 

“ Aw, now. Mother,” he said, kindly, putting his 
arm through hers, “ don’t you care. I don’t want 
a sweater, honest I don’t. Besides, if ever I do need 
it, Margery’ll lend it to me, I know she will.” 

“ Sweater I ” his mother sobbed, in choking voice. 
“What do I care about the sweater? Listen to me, 
Willie! Next Christmas we’ll have a big party and 
you may invite as many — ” 

“Next Christmas?” Willie Jones interrupted, 
hugging his mother’s arm affectionately. “ That’s 
all right, dearie. Don’t you worry about next 
Christmas. I’m going to have a perfectly beautiful 
time next Christmas. Grandmother’s invited me al- 
ready I ” 


THE END 








THE HICKORY LIMB 

BY 

PARKER H. FILLMORE 

Illustrated, Cloth. 16mo. 50 cents net. Postage 6 cents, 

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“a charming companion to popular ‘Alice in Wonder- 
land.’ ” — Chicago Record-Herald. 

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in some time.” — Albany Argus. 

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THE NEED OF CHANGE 




BY 

JULIAN STREET 

Illustrated. Cloth. 16mo. 50 cents net. Postage 6 cents. 

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MY ENEMY— THE MOTOR 


BY 

JULIAN STREET 


Illustrated, Cloth, 16mo, 50 cents net. Postage 6 cents. 


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WILLIAM J. LOCKE 

The Usurper 

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Idols 

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A Study in Shadows 

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At the Gate of Samaria 

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THE COMPLETE WORKS 

OF 

WILLIAM J. LOCKE 

“Life is a glorious thing.**— /T. /. Locke 


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characters are worth knowing. ’ ’ — Baltimore Sun. 


The Morals of Marcus Ordeyne 

At the Gate of Samaria 

A Study in Shadows 

Simon the Jester 

Where Love Is 

Derelicts 

The Glory 


The Demagogue and Lady Phayre 

The Beloved Vagabond 

The White Dove 

The Usurper 

Septimus 

Idols 

of Clementina 


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The Beloved Vagabond 

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Ij Septimus (illustrated by James Montgomery Flagg) 

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The Morals of Marcus Ordeyne 

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Where Love Is 

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B 


EDEN PHILLPOTTS 


The Thief of Virtue cloth. i2mo. $1.50 

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appreciation. — Nenv York World, 

“No other English writer has painted such facinating and colorful 
word-pictures of Dartmoor’s heaths and hills, woods and vales, and 
billowy plains of pallid yellow and dim green. Few others have 
attempted such vivid character-portrayal as marks this latest work 
from beginning to end.” The North American, 

“A strong book, flashing here and there with beautiful gems of 
poetry. . . Providing endless food for thought. . . An in- 
tellectual treat.” — London E<vening Standard, 

The Haven chth, i2mo, $L50 

“The foremost English novelist with the one exception of Thomas 
Hardy. . . His descriptions of the sea and his characterization 

of the fisher folks are picturesqne, true to life, full of humorous 
philosophy.” —JeannetieL. Gilder in The Chicago Tribune, 

“It is no dry bones of a chronicle, but touched by genius to life 
and vividness. ” — Louisville, KentucJy, Post. 

“A close, thoughtful study of imiversal human nature.” 

— The Outlook. 

“ One of the best of this author’s many works.” — The Bookman, 


An American Love-Story 

MARGARITA’S SOUL 


BY 

JOSEPHINE DASKAM BACON 

[INGRAHAM LOVELL] 

Profusely Illustrated. Sixteen full-page half-tone illustrations. 

Numerous line cuts, reproduced from drawings by J. Scott 
Williams. Also Whistler Butterfly Decorations. 

Cloth. 12mo. $1.50 

“Filled with imaginative touches, resourceful, intelligent 
and amusing. An ingenious plot that keeps the interest sus- 
pended until the end, and has a quick and shrewd sense of 
humor.** — Boston Transcript. 

“A reviewer would hesitate to say how long it is since a 
writer gave us so beautiful, so naive, so strangely brought up 
and introduced, a heroine. It is to be hoped that the author 
is already at work on another novel.** — Toronto Globe. 

*‘May cause the reader to miss an important engagement 
or neglect his business. A love story of sweetness and purity 
touched with the mythical light of Romance and aglow with 
poetry and tenderness. One of the most enchanting creatures 
in modern fiction.** — San Francisco Bulletin. 

“It is extremely entertaining from start to finish, and 
there are most delightful chapters of description and romantic 
scenes which hold one positively charmed by their beauty and 
unusualness.** — Boston Herald.* 

“Sentimental, with the wholesome, pleasing sentimentality 
of the old bachelor who has not turned crusty. . . A Thack- 
erayan touch.** — Nenv York Tribune. 

“Captures the imagination at the outset by the boldness 
of the situation. . . We should be hard put to it to name a 
better American novel of the month.** — The Outlook. 


CHARLES MARRIOTT 


The Intruding Angel cloth. l2mo. $1.50. 

The story of a mistaken marriage, and the final solution of the 
problem for the happiness of all parties concerned. 

When a Woman Woos Cloth. l2mo. $1.50. 

“ Unique. The book is on the whole a study of the relations of 
men and women in the particular institution of marriage. It is 
an attempt to define what a real marriage is, and it shows very 
decidedly what it is not. Full of the material of life. ” 

— Ne<njj York Times Book Renjie<zv. 


A Spanish Holiday 

Illustrated. Cloth. 8njo. $2.50 net. Postage 20 cents. 

“The spirit of Spain has been caught to a very great degree by the 
author of this book, and held fast between its covers. ” 

— Book Ne'vos. 


NETTA SYRETT 

Olivia L. Carew chth. i2mo. $i.50 

An interesting character study of a passionless, self-absorbed woman 
humanized by the influence of a man’s love and loyal devotion. 

Anne Page, a Love-story of To-day Cloth. 12mo. $1.50 

“Readers must judge for themselves. Women may read it for 
warning as well as entertainment, and they will find both. Men 
may read it for reproach that any of their kind can treat such women 
so. And moralists of eitlier sex will find instructions for their 
homilies, as well as a warning that there may be more than one 
straight and narrow way.” — Ne^ York Times. 

Six Fairy Plays for Children 

Sq. 12mo. $1.00 net. Postage 8 cents. 


MAUD DIVER 

A TRILOGY OF ANGLO-INDIAN 
ARMY LIFE 

New York Times: “Above the multitude of novels (erotic and 
neurotic) hers shine like stars. She has produced a comprehensive 
and full drama of life, rich in humanity; noble, satisfying — it is not too 
much to say great. ” 

(New Editions) 

CANDLES IN THE WIND 
CAPTAIN DESMOND, V. C. 

THE GREAT AMULET 
Cloth. j2mo. $i.jo each 

The Argonaut {San Francisco): “We doubt if any other writer 
gives us so composite and convincing a picture of that curious mixture 
of soldier and civilian that makes up Indian society. She shows us the 
life of the country from many standpoints, giving us the idea of a store- 
house of experience so well stocked that incidents can be selected with 
a fastidious and dainty care.” 

London Morning Post: “ Vigor of characterization accompanied by 
an admirable terseness and simplicity of expression.” 

Literary World: “Undoubtedly some of the finest novels that 
Indian life has produced.” 

London Telegraph: “Some sincere pictures of Indian life which are 
as real and convincing as any which have entered into the pages of 
fiction.” 

The Chicago Tribune: “ The characterization is excellent and her 
presentation of frontier life and of social conditions produces a strong 
impression of truth.” 

Boston Evening Transcript: “ Knows absolutely the life that she 
depicts. Her characters are excellently portrayed.” 

Chicago Record Herald: “ Well told; the humanization good and 
the Indian atmosphere, always dramatic, is effectively depicted. Holds 
the attention without a break.” / 

Toronto Mail: “ Real imagination, force, and power. Rudyard 
Kipling and imitators have shown us the sordid side of this social life. 
It remains for Mrs. Diver to depict tender-hearted men and brave, true 
women. Her work is illuminated by flashes of spiritual insight that 
one longs to hold in memory.” 


DOLF WYLLARDE 

12mo. $1.50 each 

“Dolf Wyllarde sees life with clear eyes and puts down what she 
sees with a fearless pen. . . . More than a little of the flavor 

of Kipline: in the e:ood old days of Plain Tales from the Hills.” 

—Ne^ York Globe. 

Mafoota 

A Romance of Jamaica 

“The plot has a resemblance to that of Wilkie Collins* ‘The New 
Magdalen,* but the heroine is a Puritan of the strictest type; the 
subject matter is like ‘The Helpmate.’ ” — Springfield Republican. 

As Ye Have Sown 

“A ' rilliant story dealing with the world of fashion.** 

Capt I Amyas 

‘ ‘ Jterly. * * — San Francisco Examiner. 

“ .rtlingly plain-spoken.*’ — Louisville Courier-Journal. 

The Rat Trap 

“The liter? sensation of the year.” — Philadelphia Item. 

The Story of Eden 

“Bold and outspoken, a startling book.” — Chicago Record-Herald. 
“A real feeling of brilliant sunshine and exhilarating air.” 

— Spectator. 

Rose-White Youth 

*** The love-story of a young girl. 

The Pathway of the Pioneer 

The story of seven girls who have banded themselves together 
for mutual help and cheer under the name of “Nous Autres.” 
They represent, collectively, the professions open to women of no 
deliberate training, though well-educated. They are introduced to 
the reader at one of their weekly gatherings and then the author 
proceeds to depict the home and business life of each one individ- 
ually. . 

Tropical Tales r 776-5'^ 

*** A collection of short stories dealing with “all sorts and con- 
ditions” of men and women in all classes of life ; some of the 
tales sounding the note of joy and happiness; others portraying the 
pathetic, and even the shady side of life; all written in the interest- 
ing manner characteristic of the author. 

The Riding Master. ChtL 12mo, $1.50 






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